


To Hell and Back

by wilddragonflying



Series: Roleplays [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dean's Deal, Hell, M/M, Slow Build, adoption fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 15:56:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's deal is seven months from coming due when he finds out that Ben's really his kid. They take Ben in, because Winchesters never leave family, not if they can help it. So they get out of the hunting life and settle down.</p><p>Only problem? </p><p>Dean's started to fall for Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Hell and Back

As Dean puts Cicero, Indiana in his rear view mirror, he isn't sure how he feels. Glad to be moving on; relieved that they saved the kids, and one kid in particular; sad that he couldn't stay. He wanted to stay, wanted to say 'yes' when Lisa implied that he should stick around, but it just wasn't an option. If there's ever been a time when settling down was the worst possible scenario, it's right now. With less than a year left on the clock and a shitload of hell's brightest and best on the loose, the last thing on Dean's to-do list is 'play happy families with a one night stand'.

Still, it could have been nice, Dean muses to himself. In another life. That weekend he spent with Lisa eight years ago had been wild, and the kid seems cool, even if he's not Dean's. And that had been something of a disappointment, Lisa's insistence that he isn't Ben's father. Dean might feel more inclined to make his peace with death if he knew that he was leaving something good behind. One damn thing in his whole life that he'd done right. God knows he's always done Sam more bad than good, and Sam is all he has. It occurs to Dean that he should start making more of an effort with his brother, try to make up for lost time and past mistakes before it's too late. But he isn't ready for that yet. Trying to fix things between them would feel too much like accepting his fate, and no matter what he's told Sam, he hasn't done that. He doesn't know how to.

So instead he cranks the volume on the ancient radio, waking Sam up as AC/DC blasts through the speakers and declaring that he's an _awesome_ brother when Sam threatens to kill him. What else is he supposed to do? He's dying, he's never going to see Lisa or Ben again, and the only things he has to his name are his car, his music, his brother, and the open road.

They get the phone call two weeks later. It changes everything.

***

Sam's coming out of the bathroom, wrapped only in a towel, when one of his older phones rings from the bottom of his duffel. A few minutes of frantic digging produces an old flip model cell phone ringing cheerfully. "Hello?" he answers, unable to recognize the number.

“Sam Winchester?”

“This is he. Who’s calling?”

"I'm Deputy Redbrand, from Cicero, Indiana. You are Dean Winchester's next of kin, correct?" The deputy's voice sounds suspicious, and weary.

"Yes... Why are you calling me about Dean?" Sam's frowning heavily, wondering what the hell the Cicero police department could want with Dean.

"Lisa Braeden was killed in a car accident. Her son, Benjamin, survived. Dean Winchester is listed as his father, and as he is deceased, you are Ben's last living relative."

Sam's jaw almost hits the floor.

When Dean gets back to the motel a little while later, having gone out for coffee and breakfast, he's surprised to find Sam sitting on his bed and still wearing a towel. "Dude, I told you we were hitting the road as soon as I got back. Why aren't you dressed?" he demands, but when Sam looks up and Dean sees his face, he knows immediately that he's missing something major here. "...What's wrong?"

Sam opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He clears his throat and tries again; this time, all that comes out is, "Lisa's dead. She lied to you."

"Lisa's dead?" Dean repeats, his eyes wide. He's... he's devastated. He doesn't know her all that well but she's important to him; she's a good woman and a good mom and she doesn't deserve to... "How?" he manages to choke out. "What—what do you mean, she lied? How do you even know this?"

"She died in a car accident," Sam says, and his voice sounds far away, even to his own ears. "Ben survived. She listed you as Ben's father, and me as your next of kin. All of her family's gone, or doesn't want him. If we don't take him, he goes into the system." This is exactly what they _don't_ need, not with Dean's deal coming due in less than a year.

"I have a son?"

Dean doesn't have a clue what happens next; all he knows is that suddenly, he's on fire. He looks down and realises that he dropped the coffee, all over himself.

"Shit," he hisses, and drops the breakfast too in his haste to get to the bathroom. "Shit, fuck, _ow_." He strips out of his clothes as he dances toward the sink and then he's shoving a towel under the cold tap and pressing it against his bright pink stomach and thighs. "God, that fucking hurts. Sam! Sam, did I hear you right? Ben is my _son_?"

Sam can't repress a chuckle, though he averts his gaze from Dean's exposed skin. Last thing he needs is to pop a boner. "Yeah. Lisa listed you as Ben's father. The Cicero PD wants me back there within a week if I want to take him."

"Oh my God," Dean says weakly. He sways slightly and sits down heavily on the toilet lid, still holding the wet towel against his scalded skin. "You said yes, right? You said you'd go get him?"

Sam swallows, hard. "Yeah. I said yes." Sam knows how much Dean had wanted Ben to be his kid; he'd been crushed when Lisa had insisted Ben wasn't. Sam may be a selfish bastard who wants his brother— _all_ of him—all to himself, but he's not selfish enough to keep his brother away from his son. "Figured we could head out tomorrow morning; should only take a day or two to get back to Cicero if we drive in shifts."

Dean nods numbly, scrubbing his free hand through his hair. He has a son. _Jesus Christ_. "What the fuck do I do?" he asks helplessly. "I want him with me, but I have no idea how to be a dad. What do we do, Sammy?"

Sam shrugs. "I don't know, Dean. Never had a kid before, either." He walks over to lay a supportive hand on Dean's shoulder. "But we'll figure it out together." He doesn't bring up Dean's deal, doesn't point out that it'll be Sam who needs to worry more about Ben, Sam who will be Ben's father figure. No one's ever escaped the pit.

All that goes unsaid, but Dean hears it anyway. It rips him apart inside to think that this kid is going to lose not only a mother, but a father too, all in the space of less than a year. Shit. He considers telling Sam to go alone, to take the Impala and get Ben and raise him like he's supposed to, like the state thinks he has to. Dean is already dead in their eyes, after all. But he can't do it. Maybe it's selfish, but Dean wants to be a part of Ben's life, to get to know the kid and learn how to be his father before he dies. Sam will just have to be extra involved, so that both he and Ben will be comfortable with him taking over when the time comes.

Sam can read the emotions scrolling across Dean's face as clearly as if they were advertised, and he squeezes Dean's shoulder comfortingly. Then he straightens up. "Come on. Get some clean clothes on, and let's go."

Dean nods and stands up on shaky legs that have nothing to do with the third degree burns he just gave himself. He moves on autopilot as he redresses and packs his things away, waits for Sam to do the same so that they can go and get Ben. His son. Dean is terrified, but he believes that everything will be okay. It has to be.

***

It takes them two days to get back to Cicero, and on the third day, Sam goes to the station, fills out the appropriate paperwork, and helps Ben load his bags into the trunk of the Impala.

"So," he says conversationally as they pull away from the station, "they told you Dean's dead, right?"

Ben nods, but doesn't say anything. Sam doesn't blame him. "Well, he's not. But he couldn't come get you because in the eyes of the law, he's dead."

"Mom always said that my dad was a random hookup, said I'd never meet him," Ben whispers, sounding so broken that Sam's heart clenches. He never knew his mother, but Dean had, and he'd seen what it did to their father, losing her.

"Well, Dean's waiting at the motel for us. We're going to be together, Ben. And hopefully, one day we'll be a family."

Back at the motel, Dean's wearing a hole in the carpet with all his pacing. He's not ashamed to admit that he's freaking out. The two days that it took them to get back to Cicero weren't nearly enough time for him to get his head around this. Sam has probably picked Ben up by now, which means that they'll be here any minute, and what is Dean supposed to do when they arrive?

Will Ben call Dean 'Dad'? No, that's stupid. He barely knows Dean, and he's never called anyone 'Dad'. He might never feel comfortable enough to do that, so as disappointing as it is— _why_?—'Dad' is out of the question. Should Dean hug him? Maybe, but that might push personal boundaries that Dean remembers himself erecting after Mom died. He was four, so they were weak, but for months the only person he'd willingly touch was Sammy. If four-year-old Dean could barely stand to be near his own father, who he knew as well as the mother he'd lost, eight-year-old Ben might freak if Dean tries to get too close too fast. So no hugs. And definitely no talking about how pleased he was to discover that Ben is his son. It goes without saying that the circumstances under which that discovery was made make it a very unhappy situation.

The familiar rumble of the Impala shatters Dean's train of thought, and he has to think fast. When Sam and Ben walk in, he's sitting on one of the beds, looking for all the world like he wasn't tearing his hair out mere moments ago. He gives the kid—his son—a soft smile. "Hey, Ben. I'm real sorry about your mom."

Sam raises an eyebrow; he knows what Dean's been doing. Ben shrugs and says, "'s not your fault. Semi side-swiped us. The guy died, too, so..."

Dean is glad Ben didn't finish that sentence. Thinking the guy got what was coming to him isn't a good way to start the grieving process. Two people lost their lives in this accident, and that doesn't make it fair—it just makes it even more tragic.

Wow, that was pretty well-adjusted for Dean. Sam would be proud.

"Well, at least you're okay," he says awkwardly, but with feeling. "And, you're okay with this, right? With me and Sam taking you in?" How has it not occured to Dean before that Ben might not have been given a choice in all this?

Ben nods. "You guys saved me from... whatever those things were. Better you than some random foster parents."

Dean looks at Sam. They haven't really discussed what to do now that they've got Ben, the drive here being spent processing all the new information, and now he realises that they should have a plan. They can't drag Ben all over the country like John had dragged them, can they? 

The same thought's occurred to Sam; could they really settle down? They're hunters, they can't just stop hunting, not with Dean's deal coming due. Still... "We could head up to South Dakota, talk to Bobby, see if he knows any places nearby where we could set up a base," he offers finally.

Dean nods. That's their best shot, and if nothing else then it gives them a goal to focus on for a while. He cuts his gaze to Ben and asks as gently as he can, "Are you ready to hit the road, or do you want to stick around here for a little while longer?"

Ben shakes his head. "No, I don't want to stick around."

Sam nods. "Okay then. We'll stay here tonight, and then we'll head out tomorrow morning. Sound good?" Ben nods, and Sam looks to Dean, seeking his approval. They'll have to actually talk about what they're going to tell Ben about Dean's deal. The kid knows the supernatural exists, but he doesn't think Ben will do well knowing that Dean's going to be gone as well in several months.

Dean sees the question in Sam's eyes, one that he really doesn't want to think about, and looks away. "Okay then," he says brightly, standing up. "I guess we'd better find some food."

They leave bright and early the next morning, and the atmosphere is more than a little tense in the car. Dean is considerate for a change, doesn't blast his rock music while they drive, but after three hours of solid silence, he pops in an REO Speedwagon tape and turns the volume almost right down just for something to listen to other than his own breathing. Ben falls asleep not long after that, and Dean is pleased to see that he apparently inherited his reaction to soft rock from Sam. There are worse things he could've gotten from him, like his beanpole legs or, God forbid, the _hair_.

The first time Ben speaks without being spoken to is a few days into the drive, and he uses this opportunity to announce that he's starving. Dean's stomach rumbles in agreement and it's with a smile that he pulls into the motel that's been looming on the horizon for the past few minutes. The kid is smart.

Sam whines about having to spend another second with his enormous frame cramped into the car, so Dean tosses him the room key when he gets back from the office and slides back behind the wheel, telling Ben to take Sam's place in shotgun while he has the chance. They wait for Sam to pull the bags out of the trunk and then take off for the McDonald's that the manager told Dean is just up the road. When he glances over at Ben, Dean swears the kid is smiling.

***

As the sound of the Impala's engine fades down the road, Sam lets himself into their motel room. He spots the beds, and he can't help the leap his stomach makes. Maybe Ben will want a bed to himself, which means... Sam shakes his head, scowling at himself. _You're pathetic,_ he reprimands himself, setting up the laptop. Might as well start researching houses for sale. _Hoping that your nephew won't want the comfort of his newfound father just so you can indulge your perverted wants? Disgusting._ It still doesn't stop the small hope curling in the back of Sam's mind.

Dean and Ben are laughing together when they enter the motel room a little while later, carrying two bags of food and three milkshakes between them. They say hi to Sam, who's sitting on one of the beds, and start unpacking burgers and fries. "Two of us are gonna have to bunk up tonight," Dean says conversationally, as though Sam hasn't already worked this out. It's not something they've had to do yet; the motels they've stayed in so far have come with an extra pull-out mattress beneath one of the beds, but this motel doesn't offer that option. "Unless you're gonna volunteer to sleep on the floor, Sam."

Sam snorts, gesturing at the floor in question. "One: Who knows what the hell is living in that god-awful carpet. Two: Do I _look_ like I can fit in there?"

Dean shrugs and stuffs a handful of fries into his mouth. "Well, fight amongst yourselves, children," he says thickly. "Whoever wins gets the epic gift that is my company for the night. Sam, get your ass over here and eat, would you?"

Sam just holds out a hand, and Ben gets the cue, digging his own food out before tossing the bag with Sam's salad in it across the beds. "I'm probably gonna be up late looking into houses," he says. "I'll sleep by myself; Ben can sleep with you."

Ben worries his lower lip, glancing at Dean anxiously. "Actually... I kinda... Don't wanna sleep with anyone," he says quietly, and Sam looks up in surprise.

Dean is surprised too, but he's not about to argue. Ben's only been in their company for a few days; he can't be expected to want to snuggle with a dad he barely knows. "It's okay, buddy," he says easily. "You don't have to. Sam and I can share."

Sam swallows, hard. _Great._ Part of him had been hoping for just this outcome—he and Dean rarely share a bed nowadays—but the bigger part of him had been dreading it. There was a reason he'd started sleeping in a chair or sleeping bag instead of with Dean shortly after he turned sixteen.

It's not until they're getting ready for bed that Dean notices Sam's unease. Ben's already asleep—this travelling all day thing is surprisingly exhausting—and Deam hesitates midway into sliding off his jeans. "You okay, Sammy?" he asks, frowning. "I can sleep on the floor if you want."

Sam sucks in a deep breath. He can keep himself under control for one night, surely. "No, I'm fine," he says, offering Dean a smile that he isn't sure comes out as natural as he hopes. "Not like we haven't shared a bed before."

Dean gives him a quizzical look, but doesn't comment on Sam's obvious discomfort. Instead he kicks his jeans the rest of the way off and pulls on some sweats, perching on his side of the bed while he fluffs up his pillow. "We haven't for years though," he observes conversationally. "I hope you've grown out of that thing you used to do where you put your fucking freezing feet on my leg."

Sam snorts; Dean's more worried about Sam's old habit of trying to warm up his feet than he is about Sam's habit of waking up with his morning wood pressed against Dean's ass. "No promises," he says instead, sliding under the covers in a tank top and sweatpants. "Long as you stick to your side of the bed." _Then hopefully I can stick to mine._

"The whole five inches of it," Dean grouses as he lays down beside Sam. "You're fucking huge." It's still a surprise every time he's forced to acknowledge how much Sam's grown up in recent years, emotionally and mentally as well as physically, and for some reason it's usually a sad experience. He misses the wide-eyed Sammy who was so easy to protect because he thought his big brother was a god; the innocent Sammy who had no idea how cruel the world could be. Dean sighs and screws his eyes shut. "Goodnight, Sam."

Sam senses Dean's suddenly morose mood, but he doesn't comment on it, too busy focusing on staying as still as possible before he falls asleep, in the hope that while he's sleeping, his body will stay still. He wouldn't bet on it, though.

***

In the middle of the night, the A/C suddenly cuts on, and even under the covers, the temperature plummets. Sam's feet were always the first part of him to get cold, and even in sleep he automatically moves to try to warm them up using the nearest source of heat—a.k.a.: Dean's legs. For some reason, Dean's always been like a furnace when he sleeps. Not when he's awake—then the elder Winchester bitches about being cold to no end. But when he sleeps, he radiates heat.

The shock of cold is enough to rouse Dean just a little, and he grunts his irritation into his pillow. "Sam," he snarls, shifting one of his legs away from an offending foot. Sam just whines in his sleep, shifting closer so he can press his feet against Dean's leg again; they're still freezing.

Dean's first instinct is to kick the shit out of Sam's shins, but even as sleep-addled as he is, he manages to restrain the urge. Instead, he decides to cut the guy some slack. It's not like Sam reaches to Dean for any kind of comfort these days; it's nice to be needed. He shifts to catch his feet just behind Sam's ankles and pull until Sam's feet are trapped between his legs, and steadfastly ignores the cold as he closes his eyes.

***

Sam wakes up the next morning with his legs intertwined with Dean's. He sighs contentedly, letting himself relax into the feeling—at least until he realizes that he's hard. Achingly so. Sam freezes, and then carefully extracts himself from Dean's embrace, rolling over to glance at the clock; it reads 6:15AM. It's early, but Sam doubts he'll get any more sleep if he stays in bed. So he rolls out of bed and stumbles towards the bathroom, intent on grabbing the first shower, even though he won't be using any hot water.

Dean sleeps on until he hears the _clunk_ as the aged shower cuts off. He's vaguely surprised that Sam managed to get out of bed without waking him, wonders if he's going soft, but he dismisses it in time to give Sam a sleepy smile when he comes out of the bathroom freshly showered and fully dressed. Sam avoids his gaze though, and Dean's smile quickly melts into a frown. "You okay?" he asks, voice rough with sleep.

Sam shrugs. "Yeah, I'm fine. Go back to sleep." Sam quickly sets up the laptop, muting the speakers, and resumes his search for a house; that's their first priority now that they've got Ben with them. Once they have a house, then Sam will keep looking for a way out of Dean's deal, because—now more than ever—Dean has a reason to live. Bobby's looking, too, so hopefully they'll be able to find _something._

When Dean wakes up again, both Ben and Sam are up and about, and Dean props himself up on his elbows so that he can grin over at them where they're peering at Sam's laptop. "Why'd you let me sleep so late?" he asks, although he's not really complaining as he slips out of bed and wanders toward them. "Wanted to start the party without me?"

Sam snorts, while Ben grins. "Sam was showing me some of the houses he was looking at last night," he says eagerly, pointing at the screen.

"They're all in South Dakota, and a few of them are even in Sioux Falls," Sam explains, tilting the laptop so that Dean can see. "Personally, I like these two." Sam scrolls down towards the bottom of the page, where one listing shows a house in a more rural setting. "This one's not too far outside of the city limits, and it's about forty-five minutes from Bobby's. The other one, here," here he scrolls to a log cabin that's definitely in the woods, which is one of the major sticking points for Sam, though he likes the floor plan, and thinks it wouldn't be too hard to rig the woods and cabin for protection, "is a bit farther away; more like an hour and a half from Bobby's. It's more secluded, though, which could be good or bad."

"Cool," Dean says, ruffling Ben's hair as he considers the houses Sam is showing him. "Well, I like the first one, and I'm guessing you like the second. Ben, what do you think?"

Ben studies both houses, even though he's really not sure what he's looking for. "I kind of like the first one," he offers tentatively.

Sam nods. "That one will be closer to whatever school you end up going to, as well," he points out, and Ben makes a face.

"Do I have to go back to school this year? It was like, half-way over when Mom..."

Sam rubs a soothing hand along Ben's upper arm. "Not this year," he promises. "We can make do with homeschooling you for the rest of this year. But next school year, you're going to an actual school." Sam doesn't want Ben to be raised like he was, being dragged around the country and never staying in one place for longer than a month or two.

Dean nods; he'd been thinking the same thing. "It's for the best," he tells Ben gently when the kid looks like he's about to complain. "I know you don't feel like it right now, but it'll be good for you to make some new friends and get away from us boring grownups sometimes."

"But you guys are the coolest! You've got the best job!" Ben protests, frowning.

"We've got the most dangerous job," Sam corrects. "We're in danger all the time when we're on the job. We don't want to put you in danger, so we're getting out."

"We are," Dean agrees, and he's looking at Sam as he says it. Shit, it only took the best part of ten years and a new kid to make him see how necessary this is. "We're getting out." Sam offers Dean a sincere smile; he'd figured Dean would be the one to kick up a fuss at the thought of not hunting anymore. But look where hunting's got them; Dean's only got a few months with his kid before he gets dragged to hell. Still, it won't do to dwell on that, so Sam pulls their attention back to the houses. "I like the more suburban house," he says. "It's not that expensive, so it'll be easy to buy, and the floor plan's pretty decent. Looks like it'll be easy enough to put down protections and stash weapons and whatnot."

Dean nods along and puts forth a few ideas of his own about protecting the house, mentally making a note to be as far away from it as possible when the deal comes due. He doesn't want hellhounds catching the scent of his brother or son. "So how are we gonna bullshit our way through buying a house?" he asks conversationally they've ironed out every other detail, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. "I have... Oh, I have eight bucks to my name. Unless there's something you're both not telling me, I don't think we have house-buying money."

Sam hums thoughtfully. "One of my college buddies was pretty good at hacking. Showed me how to fake your credit score; if we get new credit cards, I can get us a good enough score to buy the house. It comes fully furnished, so we'll just need to find jobs so we can actually pay off the credit cards. Maybe hustle some pool before we get there to build up some cash for food."

Dean grins. "Okay college boy, do your thing," he encourages, winking at Ben. "But before we can do that, we need to get to Bobby's, which means we need to move out." He looks at the other two, both of whom are showered and dressed, and flushes. "I guess it's me we're waitin' on, huh?"

Sam tosses him a cheeky grin. "Yes. Don't worry, princess, we saved you some hot water," he teases.

"Oh, how considerate," Dean deadpans, but he's grinning to lessen the bite of his tone. "I won't be long, okay? Go grab some breakfast, something we can eat on the road." He tossed a credit card at Sam's head and laughed as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Sam rolls his eyes as he picks up the credit card from where it fell into his lap, ruffling Ben's hair. "C'mon, kiddo. Let's go get breakfast. Think I saw a diner nearby."

***

When they finally make it to Bobby's, the sun is just peeking up over the horizon. When they passed a motel several hours earlier Dean felt like they were too close to stop now, and when no protest came he just kept on driving through the night; Ben is passed out on the back seat and beside Dean, Sam is just starting to rouse, blinking sleep from his eyes and peering blearily at the pink sky. Dean gives him a tender smile and pulls into the junkyard that serves as Bobby's front lawn, finding a parking spot right outside the house.

He sends Sam stumbling over to the porch to find the spare key and get the door open while he gets out of the car himself, stretching after so long of being slouched over the steering wheel. Once his back has popped in a really satisfying way, he goes around to the other side of the car and opens Ben's door, nudging him gently and murmuring his name. "Hey buddy, we're here. You want me to carry you in?"

Ben blinks sleepily, peering at Dean through sleep-crusted eyelids. "No," he says, yawning. "I can walk," he elaborates as he nearly trips on his way out of the backseat and faceplants into the gravel. He would have, if Dean hadn't caught him. "Thanks," he says, grateful, and more than a little sheepish.

"No problem," Dean murmurs back, something warm and tender unfurling in his chest. He scoops Ben up into his arms and can't quite contain a smile when the kid's head immediately lands on his shoulder. "It's what I'm here for." Wondering if this is what it feels like to be a father, Dean gestures for Sam to grab the bags and carries his son into the house.

Sam smiles when Ben refuses to let go of Dean. Bobby grumbles something at them from the top of the steps, and Sam follows him up, Dean carrying Ben. Bobby's got one spare bed, and Sam whispers to Dean that he'll sleep on the couch since Ben's still clinging to Dean like an octopus.

Dean peers at Sam over the top of Ben's head and gived him a careful shrug. They normally take turns in the bed when they're here, but they've both been crammed into a car all day and they're both sore. Bobby's couch is a nightmare. "We'll fit," he whispers back, gaze flickering down to the boy in his arms. "Unless you want to put your back out on the sofa."

Sam swallows, eyes darting from the bed to Dean. The bed's not really that big to begin with, and two full-grown men and one boy? They're not all gonna fit. Not if Sam wants to keep his own piece of mind and also not potentially induce a panic attack in Ben when he wakes up squished between his father and uncle. "Nah, I'll sleep out there; not really enough room," he murmurs, ruffling Ben's hair and patting Dean on the shoulder before moving back downstairs. He really wants to take Dean up on his offer—but he can't, not with Ben there, too.

It isn't disappointment that Dean feels as he watches Sam leave the room—but if it was, it would only be because this is the first time he's been left alone with Ben. He lays the boy in the bed and quickly shucks his jeans before crawling in beside him and pulling the covers over up. "Night, kiddo," he breathes, unsure if Ben is already asleep.

Ben mumbles a sleepy reply, turning and scooting closer to Dean's warmth. When he wakes up the next morning, he's still clinging to Dean, and Sam's on the other side of the room, rooting through one of the bags.

"Bleck," Ben mutters, making a face at the taste in his mouth.

Sam chuckles. "Toothbrushes and toothpaste are in the bathroom next door," he whispers, careful not to wake Dean. Dean hasn't been sleeping well, not since Dad died. "I'm just grabbing a change of clothes." He leaves the room shortly after, heading downstairs to start breakfast.

Dean wakes a second before Ben returns to the room, but it's long enough for him to panic when he realises he's alone. He gives Ben a relieved smile when he walks back in. "Hey kid," he rasps warmly. "You sleep okay?"

Ben nods, rummaging through his bag to grab some clean clothes. "Pretty decent." He doesn't mention the way he woke, with them wrapped around each other—but it was nice. He'd felt safe. Like maybe, Dean actually does care about him, and wants him, wants to be his father.

They make their way downstairs together a little while later, and Dean can't stop smiling. He feels good today, optimistic: Ben looked at him earlier like he thought that maybe Dean wouldn't make such a bad dad after all, and Dean is honestly surprised by how amazing that idea is. His smile wavers slightly as he gets to the bottom of the stairs, when it occurs to him that he doesn't have much time to prove Ben right, but he's quick to push that aside, and the grin he gives Sam upon entering the kitchen is entirely genuine.  
He makes sure Ben's seated at the table with a glass of orange juice before sitting down himself. "Sammy, you cooked!" he announces unnecessarily, obviously impressed. "Whose good books are you trying to charm your way into?"

Sam rolls his eyes, grinning indulgently. "Yours," he says cheekily. "Maybe next time we have to drive through the night, you'll actually let me drive so you can get some sleep." He slides two plates—stacked with five waffles and three sausages each—in front of Ben and Dean. Spotting Bobby coming around the corner looking like death warmed up, Sam wordlessly points with his fork towards the coffee pot with a bottle of whiskey sitting next to it.

"Shut up," Dean mumbles, his mouth already full of sausage, while Bobby moves wordlessly towards the coffee. "I didn't hear you complaining last night when you were drooling all over my shoulder."

"Will you two quit bitching?" Bobby growls from somewhere behind Dean. "It's too damn early in the morning for this shit!"

Dean sees the expression on Ben's face and laughs. "Don't worry about him," he whispers, too loud to be truly conspiratorial. "He's a cranky bastard in the mornings, but he's a pussycat really." Not a second later, he gets cuffed around the back of the head. "Hey!"

"Idjit," Bobby grunts as he sits down on Dean's other side, a steaming mug in front of him. He gives Ben a smile that's more of a good-natured grimace. "Real nice to meet you, kid. Hope you know your father is a cretin."

Ben smiles uncertainly at Bobby, then goes back to eating. Sam joins them a moment later with two more plates of food, depositing one in front of the older hunter. He glances at Dean, frowning slightly. "You sure you're feeling okay?" he asks with false concern. "You didn't make one crack about me being a housewife." He leans across the table to press the back of his hand against Dean's forehead, and Ben giggles.

Dean bats Sam's hand away, trying and failing to scowl. "You don't need me to tell you how much of a girl you are, _Samantha_ ," he teases. "You're doing a fine job of emasculating yourself all on your own."

Sam rolls his eyes. " _Someone's_ gotta look after your sorry ass," he retorts, sporting a grin of his own as he tucks into his own breakfast of waffles and peanut butter—no sausage.

"So," Bobby cuts in when Dean opens his mouth to retort. "Ben. How are these two asshats treating you? They remember to feed you and everything?"

Ben nods, still a little wary of the older man. "They're good," he says, smiling at Dean.

Dean beams right back, evidently pleased.

They finish off their breakfast with some idle chatter, and afterwards Dean asks Ben to help him with the dishes while Sam and Bobby geek out over some new—and _ancient_ —book in the other room. "Bobby's okay, you know," Dean says mildly, flicking soap suds in Ben's direction. "He's a little rough around the edges, but he's the closest thing Sam and I have to a father. That means you're part of his family, too."

Ben smiles, idly flicking some water back at Dean. "Yeah. It's just—It was just me and Mom, for as long as I can remember, y'know? It's a lot, getting a father, an uncle, and a... grandfather, I guess."

Dean immediately feels guilty. "I'm sorry, Ben," he mumbles sheepishly. "I guess this might all be a bit much for you. We don't have to stick around here for long, okay?"

Ben shakes his head, putting a plate in the draining pan. "It's fine. He's your family, too, and I guess if we get that house nearby, we'll be seeing him a lot. And I kinda like him."

Dean smiles gratefully and gives Ben a nudge with his elbow. "Just don't let us make you feel like you have to be okay with all this. You're allowed to be overwhelmed, and if anything gets too much, just tell me."

Ben nods, smiling shyly at Dean. "It is a lot, but I can handle it. And I know I can go to you or Sam."

Dean grins as he sets the last plate on the draining board and grabs a towel to dry his hands on. "Good. C'mon, let's go see what old papyrus has those two drooling."

Sam smiles when he sees his brother and nephew walk into the room. "Hey," he greets. "Bobby found a text detailing the more powerful demons." He doesn't say anything about one of them maybe getting Dean out of his deal, but he knows Dean will get it anyway.

Dean tenses. A part of him is more desperate than ever to get out of this deal, but the rest of him still knows it's a lost cause. "Anything in there we can use?" he asks sharply.

"Maybe. There's a demon—working his way to King of Hell. Right now he runs the crossroads demons and torture. Name of Crowley," Sam says, shoving the book towards Dean.

"Demons are real, too?" Ben asks, gaping more than a little.

"Uhh." Dean cuts his gaze to Ben and then to Sam, eyebrows raised. "Yeah. But you don't need to worry about 'em. We can handle demons."

Ben sucks in a breath. "Okay. Okay. Okay, I think—I'm gonna sit down." His breath's shortening, and Sam gets to his feet, alarmed.

"Ben? Ben, c'mon, sit down. Head between your knees, buddy," Sam instructs, helping Ben into his chair.

"Jesus," Dean hisses, already at Ben's side and rubbing slow circles into his back while Sam encourages him to get his breathing under control. "You're okay, Ben, it's okay. Just calm down for me." He meets Bobby's startled gaze over Sam's shoulder, his own eyes wide and shocked. Their world is a lot to take in, but maybe they've pushed Ben too far.

It takes Ben another few moments to get himself under control. "Sorry," he mumbles, his head in his hands. "Just got a bit... overwhelmed. It's one thing to know those monsters that took me and the other kids were real, but demons? What next, vampires, werewolves?" He glances up at Sam and Dean. "Don't tell me; they're real, too?"

Dean grimaces. "Them and a lot more," he admits carefully. "But we're good at what we do: we're not going to let you get hurt."

Ben nods. "I know. It just... Hit me, y'know?" He takes another deep breath. "I know you'll take care of me."

Dean kneels next to Ben's chair and opens his arms a little, offering him comfort but not forcing it upon him. "Damn right," he promises, a soft smile on his face.

Ben lets himself fall forward into Dean's arms, accepting the offered comfort. Sam gets to his feet, backing up until he's standing next to Bobby. "I hate his deal more than ever, now," he murmurs.

Bobby grunts in agreement, his sad eyes on the back of Ben's head. "The kid's lost so much; he'll be crushed to lose Dean, too," he mutters. "We have to make sure he doesn't."

Sam nods. "Yeah, we do. None of us want to lose him."

***

Later that evening, Sam hooks up his laptop, and gets to work on creating everything they'll need for buying the house. It takes a while, but eventually Dean and Benjamin Smith and Sam Wesson are in a good position to buy their own house just outside of Sioux Falls. "Done!" he announces, pleased with himself.

Dean looks up and gives Sam a wide smile. "Awesome, Sammy!" he cries, turning to Bobby. "We'll be out of your hair in no time."

Bobby glowers. "Son, you'll _never_ be out of my hair."

"What little there is," Sam mutters, yelping when Bobby smacks him across the back of the head. "Sorry, sorry!"

"Idjit," Bobby growls. "Should learn to respect your elders."

"That's what I keep saying!" Dean crows triumphantly, beaming at Sam.

Bobby glares at him. "The same goes for you, too," he adds, and Dean's face falls.

Sam snickers, but manages to cover it in a cough before Bobby catches him. "So, we'll go to check out the house tomorrow, and if all goes well, we'll be moving in soon."

Dean smiles, even as his stomach churns with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. This buying a house and living normal life thing is entirely new territory for him, but he has to admit it's kind of exciting. "Can't wait," he says at last, and it isn't even a lie.

***

The next day, Sam, Dean, Bobby, and Ben all pile into the Impala and head to the outskirts of Sioux Falls. The house they're looking at is in a smaller suburban neighborhood, with several other houses on the street. It looks innocuous enough, but Sam finds himself a bit wary. This is too close to the setup of a lot of neighborhoods that they've done jobs in. He gives himself a small shake, trying to shove his sudden paranoia to the side. Nothing's going to happen. Sam has graciously surrendered the front seat to Ben, but even so, Dean can sense his unease. Possibly because he's uneasy too; all too often in years gone by have neighbourhoods like this fallen prey to the things that go bump in the night. But they can't think like that, and he tells Sam so with a look when they lock gazes in the rear view mirror.

They take their time wandering around the property, completely ignoring the estate agent as she rambles on about the recently fitted kitchen and the brand new alarm system in favour of assessing the house's defenses, and how easily it can be protected from their own special brand of intruders. It's actually pretty much perfect, even though Bobby grumbles in Dean's ear when they wander into the newly-refurbished bathroom that it looks like he'll need to build another panic room from scratch, and they sign the papers as soon as the estate agent pauses for breath. Dean keeps his eyes on Sam instead of the dotted line when he scrawls his name across it.

Looks like they have a home.

The agent says they can move in within the week, and then bids them goodbye as they all pile into the Impala. "Well," Sam says, still a bit stunned. "We... own a house."

"It's been a long time coming, Sammy," Dean says softly, meeting his brother's gaze in the mirror. "We're gonna make it work, I promise."

Sam nods, still awed. Having a house—a _home_ —was something he'd been planning on accomplishing with Jess; and yet, here he is, buying a house with his brother, planning on settling down with his brother and nephew. His teen fantasies had never included a kid, and he and Dean had been _together_ together, but this is still a pretty damn close match. "Yeah," he says finally. "We will."

***

They delay their moving in date just a little bit longer while they work on the house, none of them willing to sleep somewhere that isn't as protected as they can possibly get it. Salt lines at the window might work for a motel room, but a house that's actually theirs? It's not the same. Sam, Dean and Bobby obsess over making the place as impenetrable as Bobby's house, and in the end its defenses might even be better. It's worth it though, and at the end of a long week all that's missing is a fully-functioning panic room. Bobby tries to suggest that they should wait until that's been installed, too, but it's actually Ben who puts his foot down: he wants to move in _now_. So, after a trip to Ikea that proves incredibly traumatising for Dean, they do.

"I think that one's for the kitchen, Sammy," Dean announces as he twists and turns, trying to see the writing on the side of the box Sam's carrying around the boxes in his own arms. "Yep, that's definitely a K. Ben, if that's too heavy just put it down there, don't try to carry it all the way through. I'll get to it in a minute." Aside from the whole library Bobby made them bring, Dean doesn't know why they need all this stuff. The house came fully furnished, but Sam insisted that he wanted at least some stuff that had never been used by anyone else. Cutlery, for example, and crockery and bedding and a load of other shit that Dean doesn't really care about. They've been using other people's stuff their whole lives—but then again, maybe that's the point.

Sam rolls his eyes as he lugs the box into the kitchen. "Y'know," he yells back down the hallway, "in retrospect, we shouldn't have gone to Ikea. How the hell are we supposed to even read the instructions? I can read Latin, not German, or whatever the hell this is!"

Bobby appears in the doorway and plucks the instruction manual Sam is holding out of his hands, turns it over and passes it back. "English is on the other side, idjit," he deadpans. "But if that's still too difficult for you, I'm sure Ben could help you out."

Sam flushes. "Sure, sure. Just because _you've_ had a house of your own since the Flood," he mutters under his breath, turning to go back out and grab another box.

Bobby cuffs Sam around the back of the head as he walks past, and then sets about unpacking the boxes already in the kitchen without another word.

Dean gives Sam a smile and dutifully hands over another box. "That's for Ben's room," he says with a conspiratorial wink. They bought the kid a TV that he doesn't know about yet, after Dean promised that they won't let him spend all his time in his room.

Sam grins at Dean, and has to resist the urge to kiss him—but that's an urge he's had several years to master. So he only grins, and then turns and re-enters the house, heading up the stairs to the room that Ben has chosen as his, and sets about unpacking and setting up the television.

It takes them a couple more hours to finish unpacking everything, and after they've stuffed themselves with takeout—Sam insisting that they'll have to start eating healthily now but quite happily munching away on his burger—Bobby goes home and leaves them to it. In a word, Ben is delighted with his new TV, but he agrees to spend their first night downstairs with Sam and Dean instead of glued to the screen in his own room. They've only got a couch at this point, so Ben makes himself comfortable between his father and his uncle, and Dean finds a chick flick for them to make fun of. _Mean Girls_ , it turns out, is pretty amazing.

Ben, unsurprisingly, drops off before Sam and Dean do, and Sam grins down at Ben before looking at Dean. "You wanna take him up, or you want me to?" he asks quietly.

The warmth that Dean had felt carrying Ben into Bobby's house returns to his chest, and he gives Sam a soft smile. "I will," he murmurs, already getting to his feet. Ben doesn't even stir when he's lifted into Dean's arms. "You can follow us up though; you look wiped."

Sam nods, yawning as he gets to his feet. He curses when he trips over the bottom step, ramming his shoulder into the wall. "Goddammit," he hisses, rubbing the now-sore shoulder. "Good night," he adds, grinning over at Dean before he steps into his room—and _that's_ a mind trip, knowing he's got his _own_ room for once, in his own house, one they don't have to leave in the next few weeks—and gently shuts the door behind him.

Dean gets Ben settled before retreating into his own room, and like Sam, he experiences a strange sense of vertigo upon closing the door behind him. This is _his_ room—something he's never had before. It's an exciting prospect, the space and the freedom to do what he wants, but once he's undressed and sliding—naked, because why the fuck not—into bed, it hits him. He's alone. There's no Sammy sleeping a few feet away, the gentle rhythm of his breathing lulling Dean to sleep. In fact, the room is completely silent. Dean rolls over onto his back and stares at the ceiling, bereft. Sleep, he knows instinctively, won't come tonight.

It takes four sleepless nights before Sam caves. He slides out of bed, his sweatpants and boxers riding low on his hips, and eases down the hall, careful not to wake Ben up. He knocks softly on Dean's bedroom door, betting that Dean's having just as hard a time sleeping as Sam is. "Dean," he whispers. "You up, man?"

"Yeah," Dean answers instantly, his voice rough with disuse rather than sleep; he's barely slept a wink since they moved in here. He sits up in bed when Sam opens the door, blinking in the light from the bathroom as it spills across his face. "What's wrong?"

Sam rubs the back of his neck sheepishly as he moves closer. "Can't sleep. You?"

Dean's eyes widen slightly as understanding dawns, but he shrugs, the very epitome of nonchalance. "Sandman's an elusive bastard tonight," he says vaguely. "What, you want me to read you a bedtime story?"

Sam snorts and rolls his eyes, lifting up one side of the covers. "Budge over, jerk."

Dean huffs like this is the biggest inconvenience ever, but he shuffles to the other side of the bed all too readily, making room for Sam to slide in next to him. "This isn't becoming a habit," he says firmly, more to himself than Sam—but he can already feel his eyelids drooping as Sam's warmth seeps into his side.

Sam snorts, already falling asleep. "Sure it isn't," he mumbles, throwing one arm under his head.

It does.

***

A lot changes over the next few weeks, but Sam and Dean sharing a bed isn't one of them. It's strange, that they went so many years without even considering it, and now they can't seem to stop—but Dean refuses to think about it. Instead, he focuses on his work.

In addition to fixing up the house and helping Bobby build them a panic room, Dean has found himself a job at a construction site. It's nothing permanent—the job was already half way finished when they took him on—but he hopes to make a good enough impression that the crew will bring him in on anything else that comes their way. Sam, too, has a foot wedged in the door that leads to the world of honest work. He's staying at home with Ben, partly to homeschool him but also to take some online classes. Turns out that he's abandoned the idea of a law degree, and is now looking at becoming a teacher. Mythology and maybe some Latin, too. Now that he actually has options, Sam is feeling a lot more laid back about choosing, as opposed to when he was eighteen and feeling pressured into making a decision not only by his school but by the need to keep it all from Dad, at least until Sam was ready for him to find out. Dean was proud of him when he left for college, but he's even more so now that Sam is letting himself take the time to figure out exactly what he wants.

Life hasn't been this good for the Winchesters in a long, long time. The only glitch in the 'normality' that they've built for themselves is the sleeping arrangements. Every night, Sam and Dean go to bed a few hours after Ben, take turns in the bathroom and go their separate ways. And every night, not thirty minutes later, Sam leaves his own room, slinks across the hall and crawls into Dean's bed. Sometimes Dean pretends to be asleep, but he never is, and they both know it. It's worse than when Sam went to Stanford. Back then, Dean struggled to sleep without the knowledge that Sam was safe in the bed on the other side of the room; now, Dean _can't_ sleep unless he can feel Sam's breath on the back of his neck. It's messed up, but to question it would be to acknowledge it, and that's not something Dean's prepared to do. Until Ben gives him no choice.

***

This is the first nightmare he's had since the accident.

He's with Dean and Sam; he knows they're at some house, but it's not their own. A glance out the window tells him they're in a cabin in the woods. Sam and Dean are arguing, something about Dean being a damn fool, they've almost broken the code, almost freed him, and Dean shouting that it won't do any good, his time is _up._

A howl sounds in the distance, and suddenly the door's flying open, Dean's flying backwards, bloody tears are in his shirt, his chest—Sam and Ben both screaming, and then it's just Ben, as Sam's attacked next.

When he wakes up, he can't remember everything, but he remembers losing his family.

***

Dean jolts awake when he hears the soft knock at the door, and for a moment he thinks he actually managed to fall asleep before Sam crept across the landing—but no, Sam is right beside him, his head inexplicably on Dean's pillow. Which means that the knocking... is Ben. Adrenaline floods Dean's system so fast his head spins, and he almost trips as he slides out of bed and hurries to the door and pull it open. Sure enough, Ben is on the other side, and he looks devastated. "What happened?" Dean demands, worry making his voice sharper than intended.

Ben flinches, but doesn't move away. "I had a nightmare," he says, his voice small. "Can I sleep with you?"

"Uhhh." A part of Dean is keenly aware of Sam's presence in his bed, and is screaming at him to turn Ben away—but he's a dad now, and his son is scared, and he can't say no. "Of course you can, buddy," he says awkwardly, making an effort to soften his tone. "But do you wanna go downstairs first? I could make you some hot chocolate, and we could talk about your dream."

Ben shakes his head. "I don't want—I just want to sleep with you." Catching sight of the lump on Dean's bed, he asks hesitantly, "Is Sam in here?"

Sam snorts awake, finally realizing that Dean isn't in bed anymore. "Mm—wha? Dean? Whatizzit?" He squints over at the open door. "Oh. Ben. What's wrong, buddy?"

"Nightmare," Ben mumbles. Sam glances at Dean before he replies.

"Dean's awesome after a nightmare. You wanna sleep here with him?" When Ben nods, Sam scoots over to the edge of the bed. "Cmon, then. We'll keep you safe."

Dean looks to Sam over his shoulder, sends him a grateful smile that he probably can't see in the gloom. Something tells him they're going to have a lot of questions to answer tomorrow about why they're still sleeping in the same bed when they each have their own room now, questions Dean isn't sure he knows how to answer, but for now it doesn't seem to matter. "Yeah, come on," he murmurs, resting a guiding hand on Ben's shoulder. "Go climb in next to Sam."

Ben follows Dean's guidance, sliding in under the covers and tucking himself under Sam's arm, waiting for Dean to climb back in as well. Once Dean's back under the blankets, Ben scoots back over towards Dean as well. "Thanks," he murmurs, feeling safer already.

"No problem," Dean assures him, laying a hand protectively over Ben's hip. "Try to get back to sleep. Nothing can get you in here, I promise."

The next morning, Ben is the first one up. He's still sandwiched between the two brothers, but apparently it worked; he hadn't had any more nightmares.

Dean wakes when Ben makes a move to get out of bed, and he cracks an eye open. "You okay?" he asks, even as his gaze flickers to Sam. His brother is still fast asleep, and damn, he's beautiful. _Wait, what?_

Ben doesn't notice Dean's freak-out, too busy clambering over Sam to get out of the bed. "Yeah, I'm good. Hungry, and I gotta pee."

Dean forces a laugh, but it's uneasy and too high. "Well, you go take care of business and I'll make breakfast," he says, suddenly desperate to get out of this room. "Pancakes?"

Ben nods as he shuffles through the doorway. "Lots of bacon!" he calls back down the hall.

Sam wakes up when Ben shouts, disoriented. "Huh? Wha?" He blinks sleepily, sitting up too fast and making himself dizzy. "Ow, headrush."

Dean's laugh is even higher this time, bordering on shrill, and he makes himself push Sam back down onto the mattress. "Go back to sleep," he advises as he gets out of bed. "I'll give you a shout when breakfast's ready."

"Mmmmm, mkay," Sam hums in agreement, stretching and wriggling till he's got his face buried in Dean's pillow, his arms crossed under it, and then he promptly falls back asleep.

Dean stares at him for a long moment, his mouth hanging slightly open. Sam, with the sheets pooling at his waist and his cheeks flushed with sleep, looks like... sin. Even fully clothed in sweats and a wifebeater, Sam looks like _sin_ , and he makes Dean's mouth water.

"Jesus fucking Christ."

Dean flees the room a split second after he utters the words, and doesn't even let himself think until he's stood over a pan of sizzling bacon, Ben safely watching cartoons in the living room. Even then, the only thought he allows into his head is that this sharing a bed thing has to stop.

Sam stumbles down the steps—he doesn't know how he manages to not break his neck—mumbling a hello to Ben on his way past the living room to the kitchen. He nudges Dean with his shoulder as he passes him to get to the coffee maker. "Morning," he yawns, pouring a cup before getting the creamer out. "Breakfast smells good. We're almost out of creamer, by the way."

"What?" Dean asks absently, caught up on the way his heart had skipped a beat when Sam had touched him. "Oh. Uhh. Okay. I'll hit the store later. After work."

Sam peers at Dean curiously over the rim of his coffee mug. "You okay, man? You're... jumpy. Spacey."

"I'm fine," Dean answers shortly, pulling the pan off the stove and dishing bacon out onto three plates. "Ben! Breakfast!"

Ben comes into the kitchen, and Sam raises an eyebrow. "Forget somethin' there, buddy?" he asks with a meaningful glance towards the living room, where the television can still be heard.

"Oops," Ben mumbles, flushing slightly as he ducks back into the living room to turn the television off. He comes back in and grins at Sam, who grins back and ruffles Ben's hair.

"Good kid. C'mon, Dean made you extra bacon." He grabs two plates and slides one in front of Ben, putting the other where Dean will sit. He goes back to grab his own plate and coffee mug before sitting down.

Dean takes his seat and silently tells himself to calm the fuck down. He just needs to put some space between Sam and him, and get laid, and then everything will go back to normal. "So, what's the plan for today, ladies?" he asks cheerfully around a mouthful of bacon, still not quite able to look Sam in the eye.

"Class, for me and Ben, and then I'm going to beat the pants off of him on the PlayStation," Sam replies, handing Dean a napkin. "Ya got syrup and bacon bits on your mouth there, Babe. _Try_ to act like a civilised human being occasionally."

Ben snorts. "As if—Wait, why did you call Dean 'babe'?" He frowns in confusion.

Sam flushes. "It's an old movie about a pig who—never mind."

"He was calling me a pig," Dean explains unnecessarily, suddenly terrified that Ben might get the wrong idea. His cheeks are burning with embarrassment and he wants nothing more than to run, so he wipes off his mouth and stands up, his plate not even half empty. "Right, I'm gonna get dressed and then I'm gonna head out. I'll see you guys later."

Sam frowns when Dean all but bolts from the kitchen. "What was that?" Ben asks tentatively.

"I don't know," Sam replies, still staring after his brother. He'd pushed too far with the "Babe" comment; he needs to lay off. They’re sharing a bed and a house; doesn't mean Dean feels the same as he does.

***

Dean spends the rest of the day and most of the night freaking out. He manages to convince himself of what he decided earlier—that what he's feeling is just the product of not enough sex and too much time with Sam in his bed—but it doesn't help much. He's still on the verge of hysterics, panicking about what will happen if this gets any worse. Well, it's quite simple, really: he can't let it get any worse. It's Thursday. If he can make it to Friday, then he can go out and get laid and everyone will be happy. In the meantime, of course, there are other steps he can take.

He's kind enough, and embarrassed enough, to wait until Ben goes to bed—but after that, it's no holds barred. "This has to stop," he says abruptly, tone conversational, bordering on blunt. "We can't sleep in the same bed anymore, Sam. It's not normal." This is the first time Dean has acknowledged it out loud, and even doing so to put a stop to it makes him feel edgy, but it's necessary. It's hardwired into Dean's brain to protect Sam, even—especially—when it's from Dean himself.

Sam looks at Dean in surprise, and more than a little hurt. He thinks he does a good job of burying the hurt; not like Dean will notice, given how he's been avoiding Sam all day. "Since when have we ever been 'normal'?" he retorts, but he knows he won't argue. "But fine. I'll stick to my room from now on."

There's a few moments of awkward silence after Sam's promise, silence that almost feels expectant, like one of them should be saying something—but neither of them do, and Sam abruptly gets to his feet, heading upstairs to his bedroom without another word to Dean, because if he starts talking now, he doesn't know what will come out of his mouth. Once he's in his room, Sam locks the door and let's himself fall heavily onto the edge of his bed, his face buried in his hands. Shit, but this domestic-life-with-Dean-even-though-they're-still-just-brothers thing is turning out to be a lot harder than Sam ever thought it would.

Bleakly, Sam realises he's only gotta get through another seven months; then Dean's deal comes due, and if they don't find a way to break it, then Sam won't have to worry about his brother finding out about his sick, perverted desire.

When Dean finally crawls into bed, two hours and four beers after basically sent Sam to his room, he feels like shit. For one, he knows that neither of them are going to get any sleep—and for two, he shouldn't be punishing Sam for his own sick depravity. But it's done now, and it really is for the best, so he snuggles down beneath covers that still smell like Sam and closes his eyes, resolutely determined not to open them again until morning.

He spends the whole night staring at the ceiling.

***

It takes a full week before Sam's able to sleep for more than five minutes at a time, and another two for him to sleep all the way through the night. After several weeks of having Dean right beside him in the bed, preceded by a lifetime of Dean always in the same room, it's incredibly hard to adjust to the dead silence—so he doesn't. He buys a radio, plays it softly at night, and keeps the ceiling fan going—all tricks he used when he was at Stanford, even after he moved in with Jess.

Dean doesn't look any better, but by the time Sam's getting used to sleeping alone, it seems Dean is, too.

The days have flown by, unlike the nights. It's come time for Sam to pick his major, and he chooses Mythology, with a focus in teaching at the secondary level. The night Sam chooses, they all go out to celebrate at the local Cracker Barrel, a restaurant famous for home-style meals and the vintage shop connected to every restaurant.

"Well, I gotta tell you, Sammy," Dean says, raising his beer in an approximation of a toast. "I'm proud of you. The first Winchester in a long time to actually make something of himself, and you're gonna be awesome, I know it." It's easy to say the words, and not only because they're true. The distance Dean has enforced between them has actually gone a long way towards making them closer—as brothers, which is exactly how it should be. Now that he's not forced to see Sam up close and personal at his most open, his most vulnerable, in a way he's only ever seen lovers before, Dean is able to separate the part of himself that loves Sammy more than anything, and the part that _wants_ Sammy more than anything. Because he does want Sam, he has to admit, but with a mixture of numerous sexual conquests and sheer brute force and determination he's managing to stamp those feelings down. At least, so he keeps telling himself.

Sam flushes slightly, pleased with Dean's praise. The past few weeks have been good; he and Dean are becoming closer than ever before. If Sam wanted his brother before, now he wants every part of Dean—in short, he's not just lusting after Dean, he's in love with him. "Thanks," Sam says, raising his own beer as Ben raises his glass of root beer.

"To Sam," Dean finishes, because it sounds good, and then they all drink. The smile on Dean's face is bright and genuine, but he takes care not to look at Sam for too long as he engages in the idle chatter that starts up while they eat. Sam looks happier than he's seen him in a long time, momentarily relieved of the burden that Dean's deal has become for the both of them, and he's _beautiful_. It's a fact that Dean can't afford to let himself notice.

After they get home and Ben heads to bed, Sam and Dean kick back on their couch, a beer—the really good stuff, not the mid-range stuff most restaurants serve now—each. Their living room looks more lived-in now, with an armchair and some more tables and lamps scattered through the room. "Y'know, Dean, you're doing a good job with Ben. He really loves you."

"You think?" Dean asks, takes a swig of his beer and lets out a breathless laugh when the bottle leaves his lips. "Man, I hope so. Never thought I'd be pleased to learn that I'd knocked a chick up, but Ben's a great kid and I... I love him. It feels so good, being a dad."

Sam smiles, and if it's a little sad, well, sue him. "I know so. And I'm glad you've got him, that you've had the chance to really know him."

Dean sighs, and he hates to wipe that smile off Sam's face, to rob Sam of his good mood, but he has to say it. He's been sitting on it for too long. "I don't want to leave him, Sammy," he whispers. "I don't want to leave either of you. But when it happens, I need you to look after him for me, okay? Be his dad for me. Okay, Sam?"

Sam nods, sobering. "I know, Dean. I will." Without thinking about it, Sam reaches over and lays a hand on Dean's shoulder, squeezing lightly.

Dean flinches away from the touch like he's been burned, and suddenly he's on his feet, stomach lurching while he works to regain his equilibrium. "Uhh, think I've had too much to drink," he mumbles awkwardly, and it doesn't feel like it's a lie. "Should probably go to bed. Night, Sam." He's up the stairs and in his room, back pressed up against the closed door and chest heaving as he sucks in desperate breaths, before he realises that he hardly touched the beer Sam gave him.

Sam realizes the same thing when he picks up the beer; he can hear the liquid sloshing. He frowns, wondering what the hell that had been about—Sam's barely touched Dean since Dean insisted they sleep in separate beds, and every time Sam has touched Dean, Dean has immediately fled the room. It hurts, but Sam is determined to bury the hurt. He's only got a few months left with Dean.

***

They meet their neighbours a few days later—or rather, Sam does. It's a gorgeous day and Dean, eager to find a distraction from the faint sheen of sweat glistening on Sam's chest where the V of his t-shirt reveals golden skin, opts to mow the front lawn. He underestimates the heatwave they're experiencing, however, and not even halfway through his task he has to pause to pull off his soaked shirt and throw it aside. It doesn't make much difference, and he's acutely aware of the fact that he'll burn rather than tan if he stays out here too long, but he continues anyway, for once completely unaware of the eyes watching him.

Sam's eyes are among those riveted to Dean's bare skin, and something more than brotherly affection and appreciation must be showing through them, because not ten minutes after Dean strips out of his shirt, one of their neighbors—a sweet, if scatterbrained and eccentric girl named Lindsae—ambles over, a small smirk on her face.

"Y'know," she begins conversationally, "if _my_ man looked like that, I wouldn't let him mow the lawn shirtless—gives the neighborhood women _ideas_."

Sam nearly chokes on his tea. "What? No, that's ridiculous—Dean's not my man," he splutters, the flush suffusing his face having nothing to do with the heat.

Lindsae smirks. "Honey, this ain't Texas; nobody's got anything against you two, especially not with that nice boy of yours. In fact, most of us rather... appreciate having you two here. Adds to the attraction of this neighborhood."

Sam's flush darkens. "I'm serious," he insists. "Dean and I aren't together, not like that."

"It's obvious you two love each other, sweetheart," she replies, winking. "I know you're a bright young man. You should be able to see it." She turns and starts walking back towards her house, tossing a wave and a grin over her shoulder. "See you around, Sam! Tell Dean I said hi!"

Dean notices that they've got company, but he doesn't pay her any mind until he's finished and by then she's already left. He cuts the mower and ambles over to Sam, pausing to grab and mop his brow with his discarded shirt, now mostly dry. "What'd she want?" he asks amicably, plucking the beer Sam's holding out of his grasp. "This for me? You're a goddamn lifesaver."

Sam averts his gaze, flushing slightly. "She wanted to warn me not to let you mow the lawn shirtless—said she'd never let _her_ man do something like that."

" _Her_ man?" Dean repeats, confused—and then it clicks. "I'm not your man! Sammy, why do the neighbours think we're gay for each other?"

Sam shrugs, taking a swig of his beer. "Might be because we're living together, under different names, and we're legal guardians of the same kid?" he suggests, not mentioning Lindsae's words about the obvious love they have for each other—but while it might be romantic on Sam's end, it's definitely platonic on Dean's.

Dean feels his cheeks heat up in a way that has nothing to do with the sun currently burning into his skin. "And did you dissuade them of this notion?" he asks tersely.

"Tried," Sam says shortly, tensing at the tone of his brother's voice.

"Jesus, Sam," Dean snaps, fear making him angry. "What's gonna happen when I bring a girl back here and get lynch-mobbed for cheating on you? I don't know why you didn't just tell them we're brothers in the first place; it's like you _want_ them to think we're bent."

"Why the hell does it matter, Dean?" Sam hisses, glaring at his brother through narrowed eyes. "Your deal comes due in _three months._ Bobby and I haven't found a fucking _thing_ that could get you out of it. No one's ever gotten out of the Pit—so once you're gone, it's not gonna matter. And why would you bring a girl back here?" he adds. "You've got a kid."

"What?" Dean demands, incensed. "Just because I have a kid now, I can't have sex?" But he knows that's ridiculous—he would never bring a one night stand back here—so he changes tack. "Whatever. You're the one who keeps obsessing over being normal. What if I fall for someone? What if _you_ do? Whatever poor girl you move in a few months after I kick it is gonna get abuse for being your rebound!"

Sam snorts. "Right. Because I could trust someone enough to fall in love with them." He's not stupid; his friends had made him go see the school shrink when he was in Stanford, and when the doctor had heard about Sam's brother and how they interacted, he'd declared their relationship dangerously codependent, on both of their parts. He'd also spewed some stuff about their childhood resulting in him having an extremely hard time forming meaningful relationships.

Dean gapes at him. "You fell in love with Jess, didn't you?" he asks, but all of the venom has gone from his voice. "Of course you're gonna find that again, Sam. I don't care how fucked up you are, you're not too fucked up to love."

Sam bites back the words that are on the tip of his tongue—he was only with Jess because she was almost exactly like Dean. Instead, he laughs hollowly. "Trust me, Dean, I'm not gonna be falling in love with anyone after you're gone." Then, he turns on his heel and heads for the house.

Dean doesn't follow; he just watches Sam go, his heart beating a rapid, irregular staccato against his ribs. If Sam keeps saying shit like that, he's going to lose his mind.

***

Another two weeks pass, and the new tension between Sam and Dean doesn't ease. Even Ben feels it; his quieter behavior reflecting it.

Then, Dean comes home completely shitfaced, and Sam loses it.

"What the _hell_ is your problem?" Sam hisses, yanking Dean in through the front door, hopefully before the neighbors see him. Last thing they need is a rumor that Dean's an alcoholic.

"Fuck off, Sam," Dean grunts, shoving his brother away. "I don't need this shit." He really doesn't. Tonight has been the worst in a long time; not only did he strike out with the girl he'd been chatting up all night, but when a guy had taken her place, Dean didn't have a clue what to do. Still, it turns out that he's a fast learner, because he blew the dude in the men's before returning to the bar without having so much as enjoyed a hand job. Long story short: he's still got the taste of the guy's come in his mouth, he's feeling confused and more than a little slutty, and the last thing he needs is perfect Sam reminding him of his failings as a person. As if Dean doesn't already know.

"Oh, no," Sam growls, grabbing Dean by the shoulder and slamming him against the wall. "I think you do need this shit—You've got a _son_ , Dean. I know you're not gonna be here for much longer, but while you are, you need to be _here_ , with him." _With me,_ Sam adds silently, but he's not stupid enough to say it out loud. "When those hellhounds come after you, Ben's gonna be crushed. You need to make sure he knows you still love him—You need to _show_ him that. So man up and fucking _show_ him, dumbass."

Dean goes limp in Sam's hold, all of the fight leaving him. A teeny, tiny part of him wants to ask when Sam gave him up as a lost cause, stopped being so determined to get him out of this deal and accepted that he's as good as dead, but he doesn't have the energy for that. Sam's right, and Dean knows it.

Decidedly more sober than he was when he walked through the door, Dean fixes Sam with eyes that are sad but clear. "Okay," he sighs. "Okay, Sammy. I'm sorry. I'll just—" Sam's grip has relaxed, and Dean wriggles out of it, intending to go to bed, but he gets no further than a couple of steps. Ben is standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Ben stares at Sam and Dean, and the near-identical looks of shock on the brothers' faces would be funny under different circumstances. "Hellhounds?" Ben whispered. "What did Sam mean, hellhounds are coming for you? What's going on, Dean?"

Dean doesn't even realise he's shaking as he approaches Ben and drops to his knees in front of him, hands held out imploringly. "We're going to do everything we can to get me out of it," is how he begins, because Ben needs to know, more than anything, that Dean doesn't _want_ to leave him. "But I'm... I'm in some trouble. And if I can't get out of it, then... I'm going to die."

Ben feels like his world is collapsing around his feet. "You—you're—No, no. You can't." He shakes his head furiously, looking to Sam for confirmation that this is some horrible, horrible drunken joke, but the bleak resignation on his uncle's face destroys even that slim hope. Ben's gaze moves back to his father, and he chokes out a sob as he falls forward, into Dean's arms.

Dean's crying too as he wraps Ben up in his arms, face pressed into his hair. "I'm sorry," he whispers brokenly. "God, I'm so sorry. I'd give anything to stay with you." And that's the trouble, isn't it? Dean has nothing left to give.

Ben just sobs more, clinging tighter to Dean. Sam cautiously approaches, kneeling down next to his brother and nephew. "Get up to bed," he murmurs. "Ben'll sleep with you, tonight." Ben nods in agreement.

Dean lets out a shuddering breath and eases his hold on Ben until he can step back; his cheeks are wet and it breaks Dean's heart to see it. "Okay," he says thickly, scrubbing a hand over his own face. "Go on." Ben obediently starts climbing the stairs, and Dean turns to look up at Sam, feeling raw and broken open. He doesn't know what to say—there's nothing he _can_ say—so he just holds his brother's gaze for a long moment before getting to his feet and silently following his son up to bed.

Sam watches them go up the steps, but he doesn't follow. Instead, he goes around the bottom floor, turning off the lights and double-checking the protections before he heads upstairs himself.

***

When Dean wakes up he's on fire, and his head feels like it's exploding. He groans and forces his eyes open, fully prepared to kick the covers off and roll over until he can bury his face between the pillow and the mattress, but then several things occur to him at once. One: Ben is lying on him, wrapped so tightly around him that he isn't quite sure how to get him off. Two: there are dried tear tracks on Ben's face that suggest he's been crying in his sleep. Three: Dean told Ben about his death sentence last night. Four: Dean really doesn't want to move. The plan to cool himself down as fast as possible and attempt to force the shattered remains of his cranium back together is quickly aborted. Instead, Dean tightens his arms around Ben and closes his eyes against the glare of the sunlight filtering in through a gap in the curtains. Somehow, just this goes a long way towards making him feel better.

Ben feels Dean shift underneath him, and he wakes with a whimper. His face feels itchy and tight, like it does any time he cries. He tightens his grip on Dean, shifting closer. "I don't want you to go," he whispers.

Dean smoothes a hand up Ben's arm and leans down to press a kiss into his hair, the first time he's done so. "I don't want to go, either," he admits softly. "But there are some things we can't help. And you're gonna be okay; Sam's gonna look after you."

Ben feels Dean shift underneath him, and he wakes with a whimper. His face feels itchy and tight, like it does any time he cries. He tightens his grip on Dean, shifting closer. "I don't want you to go," he whispers.

Dean smooths a hand up Ben's arm and leans down to press a kiss into his hair, the first time he's done so. "I don't want to go, either," he admits softly. "But there are some things we can't help. And you're gonna be okay; Sam's gonna look after you."

"I know. But it won't be the same," Ben mumbles. "He's not my dad."

"He's your blood," Dean tells him, as if that makes all the difference, and maybe it does. Ben won't be being raised by a stranger. "And he'll be as good as your dad, eventually. He'll be way better at it than me, too."

Ben shakes his head. "You're an awesome dad."

Dean laughs, but it sounds more like a sob. "He'll be awesomer, I promise," he chokes out. "He's really fun and super smart, and... And his eating habits won't give you chronic heart disease. He'll be better for you than I ever could be."

Ben shakes his head again, more firmly. "No. Sam's great, I know. But he's not you." He's quiet for a moment before he adds, in a whisper. "I want both of you here."

Dean sighs, deep and shuddering, and blinks furiously to keep back the tears. "I know," he whispers back. "I wish you could have both of us. But I'm so glad I got to spend this time with you, Ben. If I'd gone without knowing you were mine, without knowing _you_ , my life wouldn't have been half as good as it is now."

Ben's quiet for another few minutes before he asks, "How much longer?"

"Two and a half months," Dean answers, though it kills him to do so.

Ben falls silent again, resting his head on Dean's chest and silently cursing whatever's going to cause him to lose his dad.

Sam doesn't disturb them until after eleven o'clock, and that's just to bring some brunch in. "You guys slept in quite a bit," he says with a small, sad smile.

"It was a long night," Dean answers softly, holding Sam's gaze. He relaxes his hold so that Ben can sit up and accept the tray Sam's offering, and runs a hand over his face before doing the same. "Besides, we had some stuff we needed to talk about."

Sam nods, running a hand through Ben's hair. "Get everything sorted out?"

Dean hums. "Pretty much. Ben thinks I'm the awesomest dad ever, but I told him that's only because you haven't had a turn yet."

Sam huffs in amusement. "Trust me, Dean. I'll never be as good of a dad as you."

Dean sends Sam a withering look, but he doesn't respond. Instead, he gives Ben a little nudge with his elbow, followed by a bright smile when the boy looks at him. "We're just gonna have to make the most of the time we've got left, right?"

Ben nods, smiling back at Dean. "Yeah, yeah we will." Sam grins, and if it's a bit sad, well, sue him.

"Which means," Dean continues firmly. "No moping around or treating me like glass. I'm not _dying_ , I'm just going to die. If we're gonna make the most of the rest of my time, I don't want that to include being miserable. Deal?"

Both Ben and Sam nod, and then Ben asks, "So, what're we doing today? It's too late for you to go to work today."

"How about a movie day?" Sam suggests. "We've got a bunch of movies just sitting around."

"That sounds awesome," Dean agrees, grinning at Sam. "Do we have any popcorn? And licorice?"

Sam wrinkles his nose. "Yeah, we've got licorice. Which _I_ did not buy," he adds, with a meaningful look at Ben. Sam and Ben have been doing the grocery shopping since Dean is almost always exhausted after work. Ben just grins cheekily, and Sam shakes his head with a rueful grin. "You really are your dad's son."

Dean can do nothing but look on and beam proudly, completely ignoring the way his heart is breaking. They'll be okay without him, of that he is absolutely certain, and that's all that matters. Dean will have plenty of time to reflect on the fact that _he_ doesn't know how to be without _them_ during his time in hell.

***

Over the next several weeks, the three spend as much time together as possible. They're all aware of the dwindling time left before it becomes just Sam and Ben, not Sam, Dean, and Ben.

They have figured out a plan for the day Dean's deal comes due. None of them could find anything to get Dean out of his deal—and Dean has said he doesn't want to get out of it. He still doesn't want to leave, but at least now, he says, he can leave knowing that he's leaving something good behind. Sam thinks Dean's full of it, but it's Dean's life. He'll never really get over losing his big brother and the man he loves in one snap of a hellhound's jaws, but he'll keep going, because Dean's made him promise to take care of Ben.

The night before Dean's deal comes due, they're all delaying going to bed; they don't want to separate earlier than they have to. When the clock chimes eleven, and they're all still curled up on the couch, Sam puts his foot down. "We need to sleep," he announces.

Dean feels Ben curl closer into him, face pressed against the side of his neck, and looks up imploringly at Sam. It's already been decided that Ben will spend the night with him, but Dean wants more than that. He wants to feel Sam next to him one last time. "Sleep with us tonight?" he asks softly, barely loud enough to be heard over Ben's shuddering breaths.

Sam shakes his head, though he really wants to—wants to be there one last time, feel Dean's warmth next to him for the final time. "This is your night," he says, gesturing with his head to Ben. "Your son needs you."

"And I need my son," Dean agrees. "But I also need my brother." Maybe it's wrong to ask this of Sam, especially considering Dean was the one to put a stop to them sharing a bed, but this is what he needs. "C'mon, Sammy. Please. Give a man his dying wish."

Sam hesitates for another moment before he nods. "Okay," he murmurs. "You bring Ben up?”

Dean hums in agreement and sits up, encouraging Ben to wrap his arms around his neck. The boy is fully capable of walking, but this is the last time Dean will get to hold him, and they both need that. No one speaks as Dean lifts him with ease and carries him up the stairs.

No one speaks until they're settled into bed, and then Ben mumbles, right before falling asleep, "I love you, Dad."

Dean can do nothing, absolutely nothing in response to this, except wrap himself around his son and finally let the tears come.

Sam wraps his arms around his brother and nephew, blinking back tears of his own. He doesn't say anything, just strokes Dean's back soothingly.

Dean cries for everything he's losing; everything he's leaving behind; everything he'll never know. He cries for Ben; for Sam; for Bobby. And he cries for himself. For all that he doesn't regret making the deal, he doesn't want to die; he doesn't want to go to hell. But he recognises that he deserves to, now more than ever. Dean Winchester has done a lot of terrible, unspeakable things in his time—but in recent months, he's committed the worst sin of all. Dean Winchester has fallen in love with his brother, and for that, he knows he deserves to burn.

Sam murmurs soothing nonsense as he rubs Dean's back. "I'm here," he whispers. "I'm here." It breaks his heart to know that Dean's leaving _everything_ he loves, that he'll spend eternity in Hell. So he does the only thing he can: he holds his brother and wishes he could do more.

Dean cries until he falls asleep, and only then is he truly comforted by the presence of his brother and his son. For once in his life he sleeps soundly, completely at peace, surrounded by the love of his family. It figures that tomorrow he has to lose it all.

***

The next morning finds Ben and Dean still wrapped in Sam's arms, with Ben between his father and uncle. Sam swallows down the tears threatening to come, swearing to himself that he won't let Dean see him cry in his final hours.

Dean is already awake, and he sees that the tears in Sam's eyes match the ones in his own, but if Sam's going to be gracious enough not to say anything then Dean can return the favour. Instead, he gives his brother a watery smile and squeezes his arm, hoping to give him at least some comfort. He doesn't move, though; he wants to stay here for as long as possible, safe and warm and with the two people he loves the most.

Sam's smile wavers even more, slipping slightly, and he lets his hand move from Dean's back to the side of the elder Winchester's neck. His thumb strokes over Dean's pulse, and Sam thinks that this is how he wants to remember his brother—a little vulnerable, but protected and loved. _Human_.

Dean leans into the touch, and he can't help it; a single tear slips free. For all that he's insisted on keeping things upbeat lately, he doesn't have the energy to pretend to be happy on the day he's due to die, and he knows just by looking at him that Sam feels the same. Maybe that means he can talk Sam into staying in bed all day.

Sam moves his hand so he can thumb away the tear, wishing desperately that he could do more, could lean in and kiss Dean, but he can't. "Hey," he murmurs instead. "We're here."

Sam's words just trigger more tears, and they begin to flow steadily. Still, Dean manages to smile as he closes his eyes and absorbs the warmth of Sam's hand, the sensation beautifully bittersweet. "I know," he whispers brokenly. "Thank you, Sam. For everything."

Sam huffs out a breath. "You're welcome. You've done just as much for me—more, even. You _sold your soul_ , Dean. I will never forget that. Or you." _I'll never stop loving you_ goes unsaid, but Sam's fairly sure it gets across anyway, since he's not strong enough, not today, to pretend Dean isn't the most important person in the world to him, the one he wants more than anyone else.

"Me neither," Dean promises immediately, his eyes snapping open to meet Sam's gaze. "I don't care what they do to me down there, Sammy. I'll never forget you, or why I did this. And I'll never regret it."

Sam just offers Dean a small, tremulous smile.

They do spend the day in bed, alternately talking and crying. Even when they're not hugging, there's always a part of Dean that is touching his son and his brother, drawing on that physical connection for comfort and reassurance while trying to return the favour. It's pretty much the perfect day, but it seems like no time at all before night begins to draw in, and they need to drop Ben off at Bobby's and get the heck out of dodge before it's too late.

Saying goodbye for the last time is the hardest thing Dean's ever had to do, to the point where it's almost impossible to find the words as he kneels before Ben. He's already said what he needed to say to Bobby, who is standing a few feet away pretending not to cry, and Sam is coming with him to be there when the hellhounds come, so this is the last thing he needs to do before leaving to face his fate. The tears are flowing steadily from both father and son, but Dean doesn't move to comfort Ben. He needs to see his face while he says his piece.

"I'm sorry that we didn't get to spend as much time together as I would've liked," is how he begins, his voice already wrecked. "A whole lifetime is hard to cram into less than a year, but I've done my best, and I hope it's enough. I'm so proud to be your father, Ben, and I know your mom would be proud, too. She raised a great kid, and you're going to become a great man, especially with Sam to watch out for you." He has to stop here, to take a deep, shuddering breath. There's a lot more that he wants to say, but even if he had time, he isn't physically capable of doing so. There's just one last thing that he needs to get across before he goes, and he speaks as steadily as he can. "I love you so, so much, Ben. Please, don't ever forget that."

"I won't," Ben swears, lunging forward to cling to Dean one last time, as if he can save his father through sheer force of will. "I love you, Dad."

Dean clings back just as tight and doesn't say a word, just lets 'Dad' wash over him like balm until it feels like his very soul is soothed. Of course, it won't be that way for long.

Sam approaches a few minutes later, though it looks like it pains him to do so, and Dean forces himself to release his hold on Ben. "You be good, y'hear?" he says roughly, not even trying to stop the fresh wave of tears. "I'll see ya, kiddo." It's pathetic and a waste of the last words he'll ever speak to Ben, not to mention an outright lie, but it's all Dean can bring himself to say. Scared he won't be able to leave if he hears Ben's voice again, he nods once to Bobby and follows Sam out of the house without looking back.

It takes about an hour to get to the section of woods they've decided upon. Once they arrive, there's nothing to do but wait. Sam turns to Dean, his gaze sad, but he paints a smile on. "We've turned into the idiots we save," he jokes weakly.

"Not idiots," Dean argues without hesitation, moving closer to Sam. "I've told you, Sam; I don't regret making that deal."

"I meant the whole 'entering unfamiliar woods at night without protection,'" Sam explains, swallowing as Dean moves closer.

Dean flushes. "I know," he admits. "But what's coming for me isn't something we can protect against, and it isn't coming for me because I'm an idiot." He blinks, suddenly acutely aware of how close they are. He can feel Sam's breath on his face. "If there's one thing I can make you understand before I go, it has to be that. Someone gave me a do-over, I'd do the exact same thing. Life is meaningless if you're dead, Sammy."

Sam blinks, his breath coming in short bursts. Dean's standing so close, he's saying one of the things Sam has always been wanting to hear from him, and Sam can't help but lean closer, whispering, "Dean, I—"

Then the hellhounds start baying.

"Shit," Dean hisses, his eyes wild. Adrenaline floods his system, fight or flight instinct kicking in, and he wants to run, holy fuck he has to _run_ because there's no fucking way he can fight even one of those bastards off, the bastards he can hear getting closer, twigs snapping beneath their feet and their breath deep and ragged. They're coming from behind him, and he thinks that if he looked he would see them, but he can't look; can't even glance away from Sam's eyes.

God, they're beautiful, and they're what grounds Dean. He doesn't run, he doesn't even consider getting away: he has to do this. Instead, using the few remaining seconds he has in this world, he raises his hand to the side of Sam's face.

"Don't be scared, Sammy," he whispers. "I love you." And then he turns to look death in the eye.

***

Sam carries Dean's body from the woods when it's over. The hellhounds were almost mercifully quick, going straight for Dean's throat—a slight reward, maybe, for not running—and Sam's already cleaned the blood from his brother's face. He drives out to the spot he'd picked for Dean's grave without telling anyone—they all think he's going to burn Dean's body. But Sam can't. Burning Dean's body would mean he's gone for good, and Sam can't accept that. He never will.

So he buries his brother, and with him any chance of knowing what life could have been like if Sam had been brave enough to tell Dean how he feels, and if Dean had returned his feelings.

He and Ben stay with Bobby for a day or two, Sam's not sure which—he can't sleep, not long enough to distinguish between the days. When they go back to their house, it feels too empty, too quiet without Dean. That night, Sam creeps into what used to be Dean's bed, and falls asleep crying into the pillow that still smells of Dean. Ben joins him sometime in the night, and after that, it becomes habit. Sam doesn't mind—he welcomes it. It helps, a little, knowing that there's someone else who misses Dean just as much.

Over the next few months, Sam fields questions about Dean's disappearance, telling people that Dean's with a relative—which isn't a total lie, since John Winchester's still in the pit—and that Sam doesn't know when he's coming back—which is a lie. Ben starts school, and while the first week is rough, he soon settles into the rhythm of it. Sam finishes his courses and gets a job as a History and Mythology teacher at the local high school, next door to Ben's school. It's not the greatest paying job, but it still pays the bills and puts food on the table, even if there isn't a lot left over for extras.

Four months after Dean's deal came due, Sam breaks and goes to the nearest crossroad, calling in sick so he can go while Ben is in school. The demon laughs at him, tells him they've got Dean right where they want him, and besides, even if he wanted to deal, he can't make a deal to bring back someone who's already been collected.

Sam puts a bullet between the demon’s eyes, and goes home and debates getting hammered. He decides against it; he's still got Ben to take care of, especially since he's never getting Dean back. He doesn't sleep a wink that night.

A few weeks later, it happens.

Dean closes his eyes in hell, and opens them in... a box. A box? A _coffin_. He doesn't understand. He stepped down off the rack years ago—why has the torture started again? Has he done something wrong? Whatever the reason for this cruel and unusual punishment, Dean's chest is getting tighter as the air runs out, so there's only one thing he can do. He claws himself out of his own coffin.

By the time he's out, Dean feels raw in a way that has nothing to do with his bleeding hands. He's gulping in air so fast it makes his chest burn and he knows, inexplicably, that he's _alive_. Not in hell, certainly not in heaven—but alive. The steady, sure beat of his heart is something he never thought he'd feel again, at least not while it was inside of his chest. Alistair had taunted him many times over the years before he broke by holding it in front of him and telling him how disgusting it was. There are no secrets in hell, see. Everyone knew exactly how Dean felt about Sam, and everyone used it against him in the most twisted of ways.

The first soul that Dean cut into after he got off the rack, for instance, had Sam's face.

Dean still doesn't know if it was really him or not, but he suddenly has to know. He stumbles through the woods until he finds a road, and then he stumbles down the road until he finds a payphone. It's right outside of a gas station, empty, and he robs the register in order to feed coins into the phone and dial Sam's number. Instead of Sam, however, all he gets is a tinny female voice informing him that the number has been disconnected. The same voice repeats her message when he tries the house phone, too. Panicked, Dean dials Bobby, and gets hung up on. Twice. All that's left to do is find a car to hotwire and turn up on the old man's doorstep. Just as soon as this awful, ear-splitting, teeth-rattling noise stops threatening to turn his brain to liquid.

***

Once all the tests are over and Bobby has reassured himself for the last time that the man standing before him is, indeed, who he says he is, the first thing Dean asks is, "Where's Sam and Ben?" He sounds so broken, so terrified, that for a long moment Bobby can do nothing but gape at him. Dean's composure cracks. "Bobby, where are they? Are they dead?!"

"What?" Bobby laughs. "Jesus Christ, son, no!" Then it dawns on him why Dean must have thought that, and he's quick to explain. "They changed phone companies to get a better deal on the WiFi, and then Sam dropped his cell in the dishwater. That's why the numbers are disconnected. But they're alive, I promise, and they're fine. Well, fine as they can be, I suppose."

Dean is quiet while he takes this information in, thoughtful, and for a moment Bobby is afraid that he's going to disappear again, leave Sam and Ben alone to live the life they've built in his absence. But then Dean meets his gaze, and he looks so broken, so in need of being put back together, that Bobby makes the decision for him. He goes into the hall and grabs the phone.

"Sam, why don't you and Ben come for dinner tonight?"

Sam's surprised by the sudden invitation, but it's not the first time one of them has invited the other over with short notice. It's nearly 5 o'clock now, so Sam looks over his shoulder at Ben, who's doing his homework at the kitchen table, and mouths, "Dinner at Bobby's?" Ben nods, and Sam turns back to the phone. "Sure. We'll be there in about forty-five minutes or so, Bobby."

When Bobby tells Dean the news, he looks scared and a bit shellshocked, but mostly a whole lot relieved. Bobby's pleased he doesn't put up a fight; whatever the hell the kid went through in hell, he needs his family around him in order to get through the aftermath. For now, though, all there is to do is wait, and if Dean wants to wait in silence like a condemned man due to meet his firing squad, well, Bobby isn't going to complain.

He sets a glass of whiskey down in front of Dean and turns back to his desk to pour one for himself. By the time he resumes his seat, Dean's glass is empty.

Ben's quiet when they pull up to Bobby's, and as Sam cuts the engine, he glances over at his nephew. Ben doesn't call him "Dad," and Sam doesn't want him to; that title belongs to Dean. "Hey, you okay?" he asks, gently.

Ben shrugs. "It's been six months," he says simply. Sam pulls him into a hug, lingering for a bit.

"I miss him just as much," he murmurs in reassurance. He knows how difficult this is for Ben, every time they come back to Bobby's; this is where Ben was left behind for the second time.

It's another few moments before they walk up to the door, and they don't bother knocking, since Bobby's expecting them. "Bobby, we're here!" Sam calls as he and Ben kick off their shoes by the front door.

In hindsight it's probably a bad idea, but instead of Bobby, it's Dean who steps into the hall to greet them. Just the sight of his brother and his son is enough to take his breath away and melt his knees, and he offers them a tremulous smile. "Hey, guys. It's good to see you."

Sam immediately snarls, shoving Ben behind him as he reaches into his pocket for a knife that he'd enchanted; it won't kill demons, but it will paralyze them for long enough to exorcise them. It's silver, so it works on a lot of other supernatural creatures, too. "What are you?" he growls, holding the knife steady with one hand on Ben's upper arm. "What have you done with Bobby?"

Yep, this was definitely a bad idea. Dean holds his hands up in front of himself, a gesture of surrender, and backs away very quickly. "Sam, Sam it's me. Bobby's right—Bobby? Bobby!"

Bobby is already there, and he tackles Sam from the side, wresting the knife from his grip. "Dammit, Sam, I wouldn't call you here if it wasn't really him. I've tested him every which-way from Sunday and I'm telling you, it is!"

Sam just snarls again. "No one gets out of the Pit, Bobby. It's found some way to trick you or something, but that _can't_ be Dean." His voice breaks on the word "can't," and he leans into Bobby. This can't be his brother, it just can't.

"It's him," Bobby insists, carefully relaxing his hold. "It is. _Look_ at him."

Dean approaches slowly, looking imploringly up at Sam. "He's not lyin', Sam. It's me. Please see that. I—I need you and Ben."

Sam tenses when Dean approaches, still sure this is some trick—but the longer he searches the other man's gaze, the more certain he grows that this is Dean—incredible as it is, this is his brother. Sam lets out a sob and breaks free of Bobby's hold, falling forward to wrap Dean in his arms, clinging tightly, shuddering.

Dean is hopeless to do anything but cling back, one hand fisted in his brother's shirt and the other tangled in his hair. "It's okay, Sammy," he rasps thickly. "I'm here, I'm here now." As soon as he feels Sam begin to calm down, Dean remembers that he's not the only one who needs comforting. He flings an arm out to the side, gesturing to Ben. "Get over here."

Ben charges forward, knocking into Sam and Dean hard enough to almost send the three of them to the ground. He can't say anything; his throat's clogged with tears, so all he does is climb Dean like a tree, wrapping his arms around his dad's neck and sobbing into his shoulder.

Dean barely manages to hold them both up but at last he gets a purchase on Ben and holds him close, turning his head to press his lips into Ben's hair. "I got you, kiddo, it's okay. Everything's gonna be okay now."

Bobby takes this as his cue to make himself scarce, but as he heads into the kitchen, he can't help wishing he could believe that.

The three of them don't let go of each other for several minutes, and even after they finally do, at some point one of them is touching the others. After dinner, the three of them take the couch, Dean in the middle so both Sam and Ben can touch him. "I can't believe—How did you get out?" Sam asks, still in awe.

"I have no idea," Dean answers, taking the opportunity to sit forward and apologetically remove his arm from around Ben. "But I think it has something to do with that feedback bullshit I heard after I got out. And... and this." He pulls the sleeve of his shirt up, revealing the raised handprint on his shoulder.

Sam and Ben stare at the handprint, and Sam cautiously reaches to touch it. "Feedback? What do you mean? And what could be powerful enough to bring you from the Pit?"

Dean shrugs. "There was this noise, like feedback, high pitched enough to make your ears bleed. It shattered all the glass in the gas station I was in, but other than that nothing came of it." He pauses, thinking. "My grave looked like a nuke site," he adds. "Everything around it was dead, the trees literally flattened. Whatever dragged me out is strong, man. And fuckin' scary."

"Jesus," Sam breathes, looking to Bobby. "We're gonna have to research. Later," he adds, seeing Ben nodding off against Dean's shoulder. "For now, let's go home?"

Dean looks down at his son and smiles. "Yeah," he agrees. "Yeah. I wanna go home."

They don't stick around for very long after that, and Sam tosses the keys to the Impala to Dean. "I know you don't have a driver's license anymore, but I figure you've missed her."

"Hell yes," Dean agrees, grinning. They lay Ben out on the back seat and then get into the front, and the first thing Dean does is rip out Sam's iPod jack before speeding off into the night.

When they get home, Dean relishes the opportunity to carry Ben up the stairs again, this time so much different than the last. Having already decided to keep his son close tonight, he goes straight to his bedroom—and stops when he sees the mess of the bed. "Sam?" he whispers, looking over his shoulder. "Why has my bed been slept in?"

Sam flushes guiltily. "Ben and I—We slept there the first night. Just... It helped, and we never stopped," he explains in a sheepish murmur.

Dean takes a moment to turn this information over in his head, and then he shrugs. "Well, come on then." It's a bad idea, inviting Sam to sleep with them now that he doesn't have a ticking clock over his head, but he can address that issue another time. For now, he needs Sam just as much as he needs Ben, and he can't bring himself to turn either of them away.

Sam's surprised—but only for a moment. Dean's been in Hell for six months, surviving only God knew what. Of course he'll want both Sam and Ben there, and to be honest, Sam's not entirely sure that he'll wake up tomorrow morning and still have Dean next to him, despite numerous small aches on his thigh that would suggest this is all real. "Sure," he agrees, following Dean and Ben into the room. He strips to his boxers, too tired and afraid to leave Dean's room and go down the hall to his own for some pajamas, before climbing into the bed.

Dean gets Ben settled in the middle of the bed and then climbs in next to him, flinging an arm over his waist until he can reach and take hold of Sam's wrist. His arm rising and falling with the rhythm of Ben's breathing, and Sam's pulse beating steady and sure beneath his fingertips, Dean falls asleep almost straight away, content for the first time in sixty years.

***

Sam's first thought is that there is a stranger in his bed—which doesn't make sense, because Ben's there, too, and Sam's not _that_ fucked up. Then he remembers the night before, and sucks in a breath, his eyes flying open. "Dean?" he whispers, terrified that his brother won't be there.

"Right here, Sam," Dean murmurs, thumbing at his pulse point. "Go back to sleep."

Sam settles down immediately, turning his hand without thinking about it, twining their fingers together. "Okay," he murmurs, pressing closer. "Okay."

***

It's a week before Ben feels secure enough to sleep in his own bed. During that week, Dean catches up on everything he's missed, including Sam's new job and Ben's new school. He also gets his job back with the construction crew, and things start to get back to normal. Nightmares have become a regular occurrence though, and Dean can't really blame Ben for wanting to return to his own room. He's woken both Sam and Ben up nearly every night since he got back, the only exception being the first, and it has to be taking its toll on them.

The night Ben makes his announcement, Dean just smiles at him and hugs him extra close when he comes to say goodnight. A few hours later, Sam decides he's ready to turn in, and Dean leads the way up the stairs. He hesitates at the top, turning to look at Sam curiously. "I guess you're going back to your room, too," he mumbles, doing pretty well to mask the disappointment he feels.

Sam hesitates, looking from his room to Dean. "I was," he agrees slowly. "But if you want me to... I'll stay."

Dean thinks he hears something in Sam's voice, but he doesn't dare to try to identify it. Instead, he shakes his head and looks away. "Was getting sick of your freezing feet anyway," he lies. "Go to bed, Sammy. I'll see you in the morning."

Sam forces himself to ignore the hurt and disappointment that shoot through him. "Yeah, 'night," he says instead, offering Dean a smile. "Oh, before I forget," he adds, reaching under his shirt and pulling the amulet over his head to hold it out to Dean. "You probably want this back."

Dean stares at the amulet for a long moment, speechless. He's missed it, but he figured that it was gone. To know that it's been around Sam's neck this whole time; that Sam took it off Dean's mangled corpse and kept it safe... "Thanks, Sammy," Dean manages at last, taking the necklace and looping it over his head until the amulet rests comfortably in the middle of his chest. "Goodnight." He turns and goes into his own bedroom, knowing even as he shuts the door behind him that he won't sleep a wink.

Sam goes to his own bed, but within the hour he's slinking across the hall and into Dean's bed. "I can't sleep without you," he whispers apologetically as he slides under the covers.

 _Thank God_ , Dean thinks as he rolls over to face Sam. His intention is to tell him that it's okay, that he can't sleep alone either, but somehow they've both managed to slide into the dip in the middle of the mattress and they're a lot closer than he anticipated. Their noses are almost touching. Dean's breath catches, and words fail him.

Sam doesn't think—he's got his brother back, when he thought he'd never see him again; he's got a second chance. He leans forward, brushing their noses together before tilting his head just so and sliding their lips together, letting out a soft sigh of relief— _finally._

Dean hesitates for a split second while he registers what's happening, and then he makes a strangled, frantic sound and starts to kiss back. The kiss quickly becomes desperate as Dean grabs at his brother, pulling him closer with a hand on his face and fucking his tongue into Sam's mouth. "God, fuck, Sam," he gasps, barely aware of the tears running hot down his own cheeks. "Please, please, need you, shit, need _this_."

"Shh," Sam hushes Dean pulling back just enough to roll them so that Dean's on his back. "I've got you," he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss away his brother's tears before kissing Dean again, the kiss tinged with salt this time. He keeps the pace gentle, reassuring. "Gonna take care of you," he promises on a breathless whisper. "Gonna keep you safe—you're mine, no one's gonna hurt you now."

Dean clings to Sam, but he allows himself to quiet under Sam's ministrations; allows himself to let his brother's touch soothe him. Still, he can't quite keep the tears from coming as they kiss, soft and sweet. "Is this real?" he asks, voice trembling. "Tell me this is real, Sam." He's pretty sure it is, but his fantasies have been used against him before. In the end, it was this particular brand of torture that brought him down off the rack.

"This is real," Sam swears, kissing Dean once more. "I'm real, you're here, and for once, I'm not dreaming, and neither are you." Sam plucks at the bottom hem of his brother's shirt hesitantly. "Off?" he requests, not wanting to push things farther than Dean's willing to go.

"Please," Dean rasps, moving to help Sam pull the shirt off. "You too. Wanna feel you, Sammy. All of you."

"Okay," Sam manages to croak out. "Okay." He quickly yanks his own shirt over his head, groaning at the feeling of their bare skin against each other. It's better than he ever dared hope.

" _All_ of you," Dean repeats, sliding his hands down to the waistband of Sam's boxers. "Please?"

Sam nods, his mouth too dry to form words. He can't believe this is happening; some part of him is still convinced that he's going to wake up in his room down the hall, or—even worse—in this same bed, but only he and Ben will be there. Still, Sam helps Dean push his boxers off, and then he carefully, tenderly gets Dean out of his. "Dean," Sam whispers, helpless to say anything else as he leans forward to kiss his brother.

Dean returns the kiss, amazed at how easy this is; how perfectly they seem to fit together. His hips rock up of their own accord, and he hisses when his erection brushes Sam's. "Sorry," he chokes out as he repeats the motion; "I need—"

"Don't apologize," Sam mutters fiercely, rocking his hips into Dean's purposefully. "I need this, too."

Dean moans brokenly and hooks a leg up onto Sam's hip, which gets him the leverage he needs to provide almost perfect friction. "Fuck, Sammy, so good," he pants, and it's true—it's just not quite enough.

Sam kisses Dean again, whining softly in frustration because he's _so close_ , and he can tell Dean is, too. He pulls back, panting. "Roll over," he orders quietly, conscious of Ben just down the hall. "On your hands and knees."

Dean freezes in Sam's arms, even as his cock gives an excited twitch against his brother's leg. "Sam, I don't think—" he stammers uselessly, fairly choking on his own tongue. Normally he would come up with a witty retort, something snarky about how he's not a girl or a virgin and he won't put out that easily, but right now, pinned more by Sam's gaze than by his hold, he's already split open, vulnerable, and he can't just crack a joke and hope that Sam will understand. "I don't think I'm ready for you to fuck me."

Sam leans down and carefully kisses Dean, giving the other man plenty of time to pull away if he wants to. "I know. And I'm not ready to fuck you, not yet. I was thinking of something else," he murmurs. "Do you trust me?"

 _With my life_ , Dean thinks, but words have failed him. Instead, he nods and pushes Sam away, just enough so that he can roll over beneath his brother and get up onto his hands and knees.

"Good boy," Sam murmurs, leaning forward and pressing a kiss between Dean's shoulder blades before resting back on his knees. He lets his hands run down Dean's sides and over his ass, rubbing lightly. "So gorgeous," he whispers reverently, and it may be cheesy, but sue him: it's true. Dean's gorgeous like this, and Sam _may_ have a slight(or more than slight) kink for seeing his brother vulnerable. Sam runs his hands over the backs of Dean's thighs, and then back up to his ass, spreading his cheeks apart, enough that when Sam's hips move, his cock slips between them. "This good?" he asks.

Dean's tense, unsure what Sam's aim is here, but he can't deny that what's happening just now feels awesome. He wasn't lying, he isn't ready to have Sam's dick in his ass, but this is the next best thing and it sends a thrill through Dean that has him pushing back with a whine, eager to get Sam moving.

"Don't worry, I've got you," Sam chuckles, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the skin at the small of Dean's back. He pauses before he starts moving, though. "Grab the hand lotion off of the table," he instructs.

Dean does as he's told, fingers scrabbling blindly for the bottle and then thrusting it back into Sam's waiting hand when they find it. He's so hard it hurts, and he's actually starting to rethink his decision to not let Sam fuck him. But, no, this is more than enough, or it would be if Sam would just—"Get on with it!"

Sam grins. "Patience, Dean. I'll get you there, but friction's a bitch." He squeezes some lotion over his palms, warming it a little before coating his cock with it and spreading the rest between Dean's ass cheeks. Once he's satisfied that he's covered everything he needed to, Sam wipes his hands off on the bedsheet, and then grips Dean's hips just tightly enough to hold him still. Sam positions his cock where he wants— _needs_ —it to go. He squeezes Dean's ass around his cock and then slides forward, groaning when the head of his cock catches on the rim of Dean's hole. "Fuck, Dean," he gasps.

Dean groans and rocks back against Sam, meeting him thrust for thrust. It's like nothing he's ever felt before, and soon he's reaching down to get a hand on his cock and start stroking, his moans bitten off and desperate as he tries to keep quiet.

Sam groans when he hears Dean's hand moving on his cock. "Just like that," he hisses, speeding up his thrusts. "God, Dean, so close. Wanna see you come."

Already right on the edge, Sam's words are what push Dean over into oblivion. He comes harder than he ever remembers coming with a shout that he can't contain, jerking beneath Sam and pulsing hot, white stripes over his fingers and down onto the mattress.

When Dean comes, Sam follows shortly after, his come streaking over Dean's back. He leans forward, muffling his groan in Dean's skin. He managed to get them onto their sides for a moment before groaning again and rolling to the side to grab a shirt—he thinks it's Dean's—to wipe them off.

As soon as Sam's finished wiping his come off of Dean—and _Jesus_ , just the thought alone is enough to have Dean's dick giving a valiant twitch—Dean rolls over in his arms and gives him a kiss, which turns out to be more of a sharing of breath than of saliva. He doesn't have the energy for much else.

Sam smiles into the kiss, rubbing his thumb over Dean's cheek. "Sleep now?" he muttered sleepily, tugging Dean closer.

"Uh-huh," Dean mumbles, his eyes already closed. He tangles their legs together and fits his head underneath Sam's chin, presses his lips to Sam's throat. "Love ya, Sammy."

"Love you, too, Dean," Sam murmurs back, wrapping his arms around his brother. They fall asleep quickly, sated and warm together.

***

When Dean next opens his eyes, the room is bathed in the grey light of early morning. He can't have slept for more than a few hours, but he's never felt more content in his life. Sam is safe in his arms, his skin warm against Dean's own, and it's everything Dean never dared to admit he wanted. Of course, all of this occurs to him while he's still caught in the blissful liminality between sleep and wakefulness. Had he been in full possession of his senses, he would have seen the freak-out coming.

Sam wakes slowly, not wanting to come out of the dream he's having of him and Dean lying in bed, tangled up in each other. Except... As he wakes, Sam feels warm, and then he realizes his arm's gone almost numb from a weight much heavier than Ben's. He tenses, his eyes snapping open, and he let's out a strangled gasp when he sees Dean, _completely naked Dean_ , lying next to him. "That wasn't a dream," he whispers in dread, going completely still. Fuck, fuck fuck _fuck_ , he and Dean had sex. They had _sex_. Sam feels sick; there's no way Dean's gonna want to stick around Sam, now.

Dean's eyes snap up to search Sam's face, his gaze wide and vulnerable for about a second until the walls come down and his whole expression just shutters. "No," he says slowly, sitting up and away from Sam, pulling the sheet with him the way women do in movies. "It wasn't. Is that a problem?"

"I—" Sam doesn't know what to say. That he'd wanted that for longer than he could remember, but Dean had never shown any sign of reciprocating. He sits up, rubbing the heel of his palms against his eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, his chest aching.

"You're sorry," Dean repeats, and he thinks he sounds as numb as he feels but he can't really hear over the rushing in his ears. "Why are you sorry, Sam?"

"Because you never seemed interested in me. Not like that," Sam mumbles, unable to look Dean in the eye.

"And what?" Dean demands. "I'm not allowed to change my mind?"

"Dean, you just got out of Hell!" Sam bursts out. "You won't talk about what you went through while you were there; how do I know for sure that last night wasn't just because they got to you?" Sam feels like crying at the thought, at being so close to being allowed to have Dean, but if this is all just because of Hell, then Sam _can't_ let himself have this.

Dean flinches as though he's been struck. "So, what, last night was a pity fuck?" he asks, even as a voice in the back of his head shrieks hysterically, _we didn't even fuck!_ "You think we only did that because Hell screwed me up? Jesus. Did I—did I _rape_ you, Sam?"

" _What_?" Now Sam looks at Dean, his jaw dropping in shock. "No! Dean, no, you didn't—Jesus, you didn't _rape_ me, Christ. But what else am I supposed to think, other than that last night was just because of whatever happened to you in Hell? You won't talk about Hell, and you _never_ looked at me like you wanted me, before."

"Of course I didn't," Dean snaps, getting angry now that the fear is starting to ease. "Do you think I'm stupid? If you start lusting after your baby brother, you don't let him know about it! This isn't about Hell, Sam. I felt this way before Hell, so just drop it. You don't wanna know what happened down there." His voice shakes as he says this last part, but he doesn't look away. He can't.

Sam's breath catches in his chest. Dean felt—before Hell? He lets himself hope that maybe this can work out after all. "Dean," he says softly, shifting so he's facing his brother directly. "I've wanted you for a long time. I don't know how long." He hesitates, and then carefully lifts one hand to rest on Dean's shoulder. "I love you. In every way. Hell messed you up, but I want to hear about it, but only when you're ready to tell me, okay? You don't have to carry it alone."

Dean clasps his fingers loosely around Sam's wrist and pulls his hand off his shoulder, turning it so that he can press Sam's palm against his cheek. "I love you, too," he says sincerely, though he almost chokes on the words. "And that's exactly why I do have to carry it alone."

"Dean," Sam says in exasperation, his other hand coming up to cup the back of his brother's neck. He sighs, though, and instead of protesting, he says, "I don't like it. But you don't need to carry it alone. I want to be there for you, and help you. Just, don't forget that, okay? I'm here, whenever you want to talk about anything." He leans forward, still barely able to believe this is real, and presses his lips to Dean's softly.

Dean sighs into it and kisses back, and when Sam pulls away his eyes are watering; he's _not_ crying. "I can't do that to you, Sam," he whispers stubbornly. "But thank you."

Sam sighs, but he doesn't push the point—yet. He will, later, but right now, he's kind of distracted by the opening door.

"Dad? Are you up? I can't find—Oh." Sam's surprised he can see anything of Ben's face besides his eyes.

"Hey, Ben," Sam offers weakly, leaning away guiltily from his brother.

"Hi, Sam. Um. Why—Why are you both naked?"

For a moment Dean feels like his entire world is ending- but then he pulls himself together just enough to turn to Sam, the light in his eyes all 'pain in the ass big brother'. "I don't know," he says slowly, innocently. "Sam, why are we naked?"

Sam shoots a glare at Dean; really? He thinks _now_ is the time for levity? "Because—"

"Did you guys... sleep together?" Ben asks, and Sam winces. He remembers giving Ben 'the talk' when several older kids were taunting Ben about how he was a faggot because he was being raised by a man—previously two men.

"Not... exactly?" Sam offers, more than a bit mortified.

"Why does he know what that means?" Dean demands of Sam, his eyebrows disappearing up into his hairline. "You know what? Don't answer that. Ben." He turns to his son. "Sam was like your dad while I was... away, right?"

Ben nods, frowning slightly now. "But... You guys are brothers."

Dean winces. "Yeah, we are," he says, glancing briefly at Sam. "And if you have a problem with it, then we won't do anything like this again. You always come first. But... I love him, Ben. And I'm not ashamed of that."

"And I love him," Sam adds, with a small smile for Dean. "But Dean's right: We will always put you first."

Ben's quiet for several long moments, but finally, he says, "It's... weird. But, I get that you two are in love." He sobers. "I remember what Sam was like, after you left," he adds quietly. "It's just... What are you going to tell the neighbors?"

Dean smiles at that. "We didn't buy this house as brothers, and the neighbours already thought we were together before I left. So unless Sam dissuaded them of that notion while I was away..?"

Sam shakes his head, chuckling sheepishly and rubbing the back of his neck. "I just told them you were with relatives," he admits. "Don't know what I would have told them if you hadn't come back."

Dean grins and shuffles over to Sam, closing the gap between them with a relieved sigh when their skin finally touches again, even if it's just their shoulders. "So what do you think, Ben?" he asks hopefully. "Can you deal with Sam and I having a relationship?"

Ben shrugs. "It'll take some getting used to," he says honestly.

"Of course," Sam says, grinning in relief. "But you'll be okay?" Ben nods, and Sam laughs. "If I had some pants on, I'd hug you right now."

"But we don't have pants on, so there will be no hugging of any kind," Dean interrupts quickly. "Ben, go downstairs. We'll be there soon."

"Thank god," Ben mumbles, turning and fleeing hastily. Once Sam hears him moving around downstairs, he turns and rests his forehead against Dean's shoulder, laughing. "Not even a day into this and we've already managed to scar our kid," he snickers.

Dean turns to hide his grin in Sam's hair, so wide it makes his face ache. "Our kid," he mumbles. "I like the sound of that."

"Mm, me too," Sam hums, nosing at Dean's neck before tilting his head to kiss Dean properly. "C'mon. Time to face the day."

***

Life is good for a few weeks after that. Sam and Dean learn how to be a couple instead of just brothers—it's surprisingly not all that different; maybe all those people who thought they were gay were onto something—and Ben learns not to barge into what is now officially _their_ bedroom without knocking first and giving them a moment to find pants. Although there are still nights when Dean wakes up screaming and shaking in Sam's arms, Dean can't remember a time when he was happier. He may not have wanted this for as long as Sam has, but the fact that he has a family of his own now, a family that features Sam as his life partner and Ben as their son, makes him feel whole. And for those first few weeks, he can pretend that he is.

Of course, just when Dean's starting to relax, all hell breaks loose. Almost literally. The ear-splitting, glass-shattering shriek comes for him while he's at work, and sets his team back a good week when every single window in the house they're building is pretty much reduced to sand. Naturally, Dean freaks out and refuses to go home, seeking sanctuary instead in a motel room by himself where strange feedback monsters can't destroy his home or hurt his family. He refuses to tell Sam where he is, and they're apart for a full week before Bobby manages to track down a psychic and promises that they can get this all sorted out right now.

When the psychic, a nice if somewhat creepy woman named Pam who likes Sam's ass and invites herself into their bed when this is all over, contacts the creature who is stalking Dean, they all have to watch helplessly on as her eyes burn out of her skull. She doesn't die, but she's never going to see again. Dean hates himself.

The only good thing that comes of the encounter is that they get a name. Castiel.

Dean tries to run again after that, insists that he can't expose Sam or Ben to something so dangerous, but Sam puts his foot down and Ben pulls out the puppy eyes—it seems Sam taught him a lot while Dean was in Hell—and Dean can't bring himself to leave them. Instead, Ben goes to Bobby's, and Sam and Dean ward an old barn with as many protections as they can think of and summon the thing.

When a guy in a trench coat appears, it's not at all what they were expecting. Still, they give it everything they've got, and even though holy water and blessed knives and whatever else they have to throw at the thing just bounce straight off him, Dean only relents when Castiel gets his hands on Sam and renders him, seemingly with only a touch, unconscious. Furious and scared out of his mind, Dean demands to know who the fuck this bastard is. The little smile that curves the man's lips sends a chill racing down Dean's spine.

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."

Castiel studies the man before him curiously. This is the infamous Dean Winchester, destined to give his body to Michael to use for a vessel? To be honest, Castiel was expecting... more.

Dean bares his teeth in a snarl. "I think I got that part," he snaps, gesturing to his shoulder, which still branded with this freak's handprint. " _What_ are you?"

"I am an angel of the Lord," Castiel states simply, unfazed by the human's aggression.

Dean actually laughs at that. "You think I'm stupid? There's no such thing, and even if there was, a fucking _angel_ would not waste their energy dragging my sorry ass out of Hell."

Castiel tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing for a moment before he announced, "That is your problem, Dean: You have no faith."

"I have no—" Dean splutters, livid. "Can you fucking blame me? What do you want from me?!"

"We have a job for you, Dean," Castiel stated. "You will help in rebuilding the Earth."

Dean's eyes widen. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not exactly world-saving material. I don't even hunt anymore. I have a family."

"You were born for this," Castiel states, his voice brooking no argument. "As was your brother. You two will lead the end, so that the world may be reborn."

Dean makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, but he doesn't back down. "Listen, freak, whatever 'holy mission' you wanna send us on, we're not interested. Okay? In fact, you can go straight to—"

"I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you. Unless you want us to take you back there."

Dean spins around, and almost falls on his ass. There's another guy now, dressed more like a funeral director than a tax accountant, and he looks about a million times more threatening. That could be because he's bending over Sam. "Don't you touch him!"

The man pays him no heed, and touches two of his fingers to Sam's temple. Sam's eyes flutter, and the man strolls over to stand next to Castiel. "My name is Uriel," he explains. "I am also an angel of the Lord."

Dean doesn't even hear him; he's already at Sam's side.

"I didn't harm him!" Uriel continues impatiently, louder this time. "But if Castiel is going to explain your destinies, he might as well be awake to hear it."

Sam groans, sitting up with Dean's help. "What the hell?" he mutters, shaking his head. "Dean, what's going on?"

"These douchebags have decided that they need us to do their dirty work for them," Dean answers, gripping Sam's arm tight. "Apparently they're angels. I was just about to tell them to go to Hell."

Uriel growls. "We _are_ angels, and I wasn't joking. If you don't watch your tongue, I will send you straight back to the Pit."

"You're _not_ angels," Dean argues. "Angels aren't supposed to put people Hell."

"We can make a special exception for you," Uriel counters archly. "You're an abomination, after all."

Dean feels all of the colour drain from his face.

"Hey," Sam snarls, stepping in front of his brother. "If anyone's the abomination, it's _you_ two. Angels were not meant to walk the earth. Or we could get really philosophical, say _all_ humans are abominations, considering the story of Adam and Eve."

"Enough," Castiel cuts in, shooting a sharp glance at Uriel. "Sam, Dean, we need you two. You are destined to save the world."

"I don't care," Dean insists. "Find someone else. Why do you want an abomination to save the world anyway?"

"We didn't," Uriel says smoothly. "It was your brother who was supposed to be the abomination, but it seems that your son has had a good influence on him. The demonic whore you know as Ruby hasn't been able to get near him since Benjamin came into your lives." Dean bristles, but Uriel ignores him. "So you have taken his place instead. The sins you have committed are not outweighed by those of your brother, as they were meant to be. You broke the first seal, and started the apocalypse. Now you must clean up your mess."

"Whoa, whoa," Sam protests, glaring at the angels. "What do you mean, Dean 'broke the first seal'?" he demands. "What the hell are seals?"

"The seals to Lucifer's cage," Uriel supplies, his voice ice cold. "There are hundreds, but only sixty six need to be broken, and your brother broke the first one, the one that makes all of the others vulnerable." He turns to Dean then, but he's still talking to Sam when he continues, "I bet he hasn't told you how he did that."

Sam glances at Dean, taking in his pale face, and he scowls, turning back to the angels as he steps beside his brother and takes Dean's hand in his, squeezing lightly. "How could he know _what_ he did in Hell broke the seal? We didn't even know there _were_ seals to be broken."

Uriel laughs, and the sound sets Dean's teeth on edge. "Oh, he knows. And the guilt of it is crushing him. Which is exactly why he's going to help us."

"That's where you're wrong," Dean interrupts, his voice strained but strong. "I've already bowed to a demon, and you're right, the guilt is crushing me—but there's no way I'm letting an angel make me his bitch, too. You can both fuck spiders."

Sam suppresses his shock at hearing that Dean bowed to a demon, but it's Castiel who replies, "I believe that expression means he isn't going to help us." He places a hand upon Uriel's shoulder, stilling the other angel. "We do not force others, Uriel. It is his choice."

Uriel looks like he wants to burn Dean's eyes out of his head, just like Castiel did to Pam, but he doesn't. Instead, he shrugs Castiel's hand off of him almost violently and straightens his jacket, clearly furious. "You'll regret this when the world is burning," he says calmly, and then he disappears.

Castiel doesn't say anything, just casts Sam and Dean an inscrutable look, and vanishes with the faint flutter of wings. As soon as the angel's gone, Sam blows out a breath, looking at Dean with wide eyes. "Did that—Were those seriously _angels_?"

"I don't know," Dean answers, clearly shaken up. "Can we not find out? Because as soon as we know for sure, that means we just genuinely turned down a mission from God to save the world."

Sam nods. "Yeah. Yeah I really would rather not find out," he agrees shakily. "Cmon, let's go back to Bobby's."

Dean nods and presses the car keys into Sam's hand. "You drive."

***

When they pull up to Bobby's, Ben rockets through the door before Sam cuts the engine. He tackles Dean as soon as the elder Winchester is out of the car, hugging him tightly. "You guys gotta quit leaving me behind," he mumbles.

Dean hugs back just as tight, his eyes squeezed shut against the emotion he's been battling since Castiel showed up. "We had to, buddy," he murmurs soothingly. "Didn't know what we were dealing with; couldn't put you in danger. But it's okay. We're not leaving you again." When he opens his eyes, Bobby is standing in the doorway, his gaze intent on Dean's ashen face. Dean shakes his head minutely— _later_ —and slowly releases Ben. "Come on, let's go inside. It's late, and it looks like you've not had any sleep tonight. You can crash upstairs while Sam and I talk to Bobby."

Ben nods, and the three of them head into the house. After Ben's settled upstairs with a promise that Sam and Dean will be up shortly, the Winchesters and Bobby gather in the study. Sam explains what happened, with Dean filling in where Sam was unconscious. "So, what do you think, Bobby?"

Bobby sighs, deep and heavy. "I have no idea," he answers honestly, and this is the first time that Dean remembers thinking he looks like an old man. "But it sounds like you just sentenced the whole world to death. Not that I blame you," he adds quickly when Dean looks like he's going to object. "If the world's gonna end then it's gonna end, and you two have Ben to worry about now. He needs you here, not off chasing glory. Those angels, if they are angels, can find someone else." Bobby sighs again and gets to his feet. "I'll look into it, but right now we all need to get some shut-eye. Are you staying here tonight? Want me to make up the couch for you, Sam?"

Sam glances over at Dean before he replies. "No, but thanks, Bobby. Dean and I are gonna sleep with Ben."

Bobby shrugs and runs a hand over his face. "Probably a good idea," he grunts. "Kid has major separation issues right now." Dean looks guilty, but Bobby waves a dismissive hand at him. "It's not yer fault, idjit; that's not what I'm saying. Get your asses to bed."

Dean nods and moves past Bobby with a quiet 'thank you', leading the way up the stairs. Ben is fast asleep when they get into their room, curled up tight in the middle of the bed, and Dean shares a tender look with Sam before starting to undress as quietly as possible.

Sam follows Dean's lead, tucking himself into bed behind Ben, who immediately relaxes, curling into Sam's arms. When Dean joins them, Sam reaches out to lay a hand on his brother's hip. "Night," he murmurs.

Dean mirrors Sam's position, so that Ben is surrounded on all sides by both of them, and closes his eyes. "Good night, Sammy."

***

Life gets back to normal for a few weeks after that—or at least as normal as life can get for the Winchesters. Sam and Dean continue working, Ben does well in his schoolwork—and joins the local Little League soccer team, which makes both Sam and Dean happy. Sam, because Ben was getting the childhood he never got to, and Dean, because Ben got to be active in a way that didn't involve literally running for his life.

About a month after the encounter in the barn, Sam was in the middle of grading several comparison essays on various myths and monsters across different cultures; Sam was glad he'd chosen Mythology and Latin. While he only had one Mythology class to his three Latin classes, in all of them he could teach his students the knowledge they might need one day to keep themselves alive, though Sam prays it never comes to that. He is just finishing up a note of congratulations on a paper whose author had delved into the two main types of werewolf lore (packs and lone, rogue werewolves) when the phone rings. "Babe, can you get that?" Sam calls to the living room where Dean and Ben are battling furiously on Rainbow Road, Dean cussing up a storm while Ben cackles.

"Sure!" Dean abandons the game gratefully—Ben was kicking his ass—and gets up to grab the phone out of its cradle. "Yello?"

"Someone's in a good mood."

Dean smiles. "Hey Bobby. What can we do for ya?"

"I've got some info for ya, regarding your encounter with Heaven last week," Bobby says without preamble. "Come to my place for dinner?"

The smile quickly fades. "Sure, Bobby. See you later." He hangs up without waiting for a reply and wanders through to Sam's office. "Bobby wants us over for dinner. Says he needs to talk to us about our angel situation. Sam, I think they were legit."

Sam looks up, sobering. "Oh. Well." He clears his throat while he thinks of something to say. "Did Bobby say they were legit, or just that he wanted to talk about it?"

Dean shrugs. "That he wants to talk to us, but if they weren't legit wouldn't he have said so? Put our minds at ease and all that?"

"Yeah." Sam's quiet for a moment, then he glances at the clock. "C'mon, it's 4:30 now. If we hurry, we can be ready and make it to Bobby's by 6.”

Dean nods and leaves the room to change out of his work clothes; Ben had enticed him into a game with him pretty much as soon as he walked through the door. He pauses on his way past to stick his head into the living room. "Kid, get your shoes and whatever homework you're trying to put off. We're going to Bobby's."

Ben pouts and grumbles, but shuts off the game console, yanking his tennis shoes on and snagging his bookbag. "Why're we going to Bobby's?" he asks Sam curiously as Sam packs up his work briefcase.

"Cause Bobby's got some stuff to show us. Got everything?" At Ben's nod, Sam pokes his head into the stairwell. "Get your ass down here or we're leaving you, Dean!"

Dean rushes down the stairs a moment later, looking a lot more put together than he did when he got home. "Okay, okay, I'm ready," he huffs as he ushers his family out of the house. "Let's go already, I'm starving."

Sam laughs, sling an arm around Dean's waist as they head for the Impala. "When aren't you?" he teases, pressing a quick kiss to the older Winchester's temple.

"Ew, guys! Not when we’re getting ready to head out," Ben complains, smacking Dean in the arm.

"Why not?" Dean laughs, grabbing Sam around the waist and pressing kisses all over his face. "Do we embarrass you, Ben? Do you not want to be seen in public with us?" Across the street, someone wolf-whistles, and Dean cracks up.

"Stop it!" Ben shrieks, but he's laughing, too. "Oh my god, yes, you two embarass the _heck_ out of me, quit it!"

After stealing one last, very deep kiss from Sam's lips, Dean pulls away with a grin. "Damn," he sighs, shaking his head. "I guess that means he won't want to come for ice cream with us later, huh Sam?"

"Probably not," Sam agrees, and Ben wrinkles his nose.

"Not if you two are gonna act like that," he declares, climbing into the back seat. Sam snickers, kissing Dean one more time before sliding into his customary seat.

***

They eat as soon as they arrive, and Bobby won't say a word about what he's found until afterwards. Once the plates are cleared away, they leave Ben at the table to do his homework and Bobby ushers Sam and Dean into his study, closing all of the doors between it and the kitchen. It's safe to say that Dean is very nervous by the time he sits down. "What have you got for us?" he asks softly, almost afraid to hear the answer.  
Bobby takes a deep breath. "Well, the first thing is that those angels were definitely real angels, and they were definitely asking you to play a role in the apocalypse," he begins, and Dean sucks in a sharp breath. "It seems that your participation was foretold or some bullshit. The endgame, if you'd agreed to do what they wanted, would have been killing the demon bitch that held Dean's contract."

"Lilith?" Dean repeats incredulously.

Bobby nods. "Yeah, seems she's the one who's hankering after releasing the devil. There's a full-out war between Heaven and Hell going on right now, and Lilith's leading the demons."

Sam and Dean exchange glances, and Sam asks, "Then who's leading Heaven? This Castiel? And why did they need us?"

Bobby shrugs. "I guess Castiel's a part of it, but I'm thinking it's more likely to be one of the archangels, Michael probably. As for why they need you, well, this is where it gets interesting." He pauses, whether for dramatic effect or because the next part will be hard to say Dean doesn't know. "This thing about killing Lilith is all very well and good in theory. Kill the hellbitch, the campaign to free Satan falls apart. In practice, not so much."

"What do you mean?" Dean asks.

"Well, it took some digging, but I finally managed to identify most of the seals. It don't matter which ones you break, or what order you break 'em in, except the first and the last. The first..." He meets Dean's gaze, and the look on his face tells Dean that he knows exactly what happened in Hell. "The first has already been broken, as we know. The last, is the death of Lucifer's very first demon. And that award, ladies and gentleman, goes straight to Lilith."

Sam freezes. Ruby had come by exactly once to try to convince Sam to commit that very act—Only once. Sam had made it clear that he was more than willing to find another way to kill her if she came near him or Ben again. At the time, when she'd told him that killing Lillith would bring back Dean, he'd regretted it, but now, knowing what would have really happened, he lets himself feel relieved that he turned her away. "So, killing Lillith would have kickstarted the Apocalypse?"

Bobby nods, frowning slightly. "Sam, you're white as a sheet and I haven't even gotten to the good part yet."

Dean looks around at that, and sees that Bobby is right. He reaches out to touch Sam's arm. "What is it?"

"Ruby came for me," Sam admits quietly. "After you... She said if I killed Lillith, it'd bring you back."

Dean hisses, and slides his hand down until he can grip Sam's wrist. "Always said I didn't trust that bitch," he jokes weakly, but the look he gives Sam says anything but 'I told you so'. They'll talk about it later. He turns back to Bobby. "You said that wasn't the best part?"

Bobby grunts. "The apocalypse isn't just about ending the world. Don't get me wrong, Lucifer's all about the carnage and fire and the blood, and there's that whole thing about the Four Horsemen, but the big event is a showdown between Lucifer and Michael here on earth. Which means that Lucifer and Michael need vessels." Dean blinks, confused, and Bobby elaborates. "It's not the same for angels as it is for demons. They can possess anyone they want, but regular people won't hold them for long. They each have a true vessel, someone who was born to be inhabited by an angel. From what I can work out, you two are Michael and Lucifer's vessels."

Sam swallows, hard. "Let me guess: I was Lucifer's?" At the looks he receives from Dean and Bobby, Sam snorts. "Like it hasn't crossed your minds. I was fed demon blood as a baby—what if Azazeal was working towards this, all along?"

Dean shakes his head. "No, no way. After what I did in Hell, I have to be Lucifer's vessel. Right, Bobby?"

But Bobby doesn't answer straight away. Instead, he takes some time to think, and then he turns to Sam. "When Ruby offered to help you kill Lilith, what did she ask you to do?"

"She wanted me to go with her. Said she could teach me to master the gifts that Yellow Eyes gave me," Sam confesses, his voice barely above a murmur.

"Did she tell you to drink her blood?" Bobby presses. Dean stares between the two of them, at a complete loss.

Sam nods, his gaze fixed on his knees. "Said it would strengthen the demon blood already in me, make my gifts stronger, make _me_ stronger."

Bobby sighs, and Dean stares at him. "What does that mean?" he demands.  
"It means Sam's right," Bobby says tiredly. "He's Lucifer's vessel, and it was probably Azazel's plan to get him to that stage. The demon blood he put in you makes you susceptible to addiction, Sam, and you'd need to take in a hell of a lot in order to hold Lucifer in you. If you'd started drinking Ruby's blood... I don't think we would have been able to get you back, kid."

Sam nods. "I sent her packing; told her if she came back, I didn't care how long it took, I'd find a way to kill her. I had Ben to look after."

Dean squeezes Sam's wrist again, almost bowled over by a sudden rush of affection for his brother—his lover. "You did good, Sammy," he murmurs softly.

Sam nods, smiling tentatively at Dean. "So you're saying—Lucifer and Michael can't have their showdown unless they're in our bodies?"

"Pretty much," Bobby agrees. "And from what I can tell, Lucifer can't be freed unless his vessel kills Lilith. So, I guess you made the right choice in telling those angels to... What was it, again?"

Sam chuckles. "Dean told them to go fuck spiders," he supplies helpfully.

Bobby smiles and sits back in his chair. "Well, that's all I got for ya. Thought you'd like to know."

Dean nods, and releases Sam's wrist. "Thanks, Bobby. It's, uhh. Certainly a lot to think about."

Sam nods in agreement. "Yeah, yeah it is. Thanks, Bobby." The three hunters spend a while chatting about various things, and then Sam finally gets up, rounding up Dean and Ben to head home. "You've got school tomorrow, kiddo. Don't try to gimme that bull about you being able to stay up," he scolds when Ben protests.

It's late, and Dean really wants to go home, so he promises Ben that they'll go for ice cream tomorrow when they get to the car. It's the right decision: Ben falls asleep not long after they start driving. He's like Sam that way, Dean thinks; when he was young, all it would take was the rumble of the Impala beneath him and a little soft rock and he'd be out like a light. It makes Dean smile to think about it. He's sure Ben has a lot of Lisa's characteristics—he definitely has her eyes—but he's as much a part of Sam as he is a part of Dean, and it's nice. Like he's their son.

When they get home Ben goes upstairs without argument, Sam and Dean following on not long after. It's a relief when they find that Ben has gone into his own room; Dean wants to be with Sam tonight, just Sam. However, when he meets Sam's gaze while they're undressing on opposite sides of the bed, he can see that they're not going to curl up together and pass out anytime soon. Sam wants to talk.

Sam waits until they're in bed before he says anything. "I think you need to tell me what happened in Hell," he says quietly but firmly. "Whatever it was, it broke the first seal. You and Bobby know—you can't keep out of the loop. Not now, after everything."

Dean sighs and rolls onto his back, stares up at the ceiling. He knows Sam's right, but he can't look at him while he says this. "I was dead for six months," he begins, his throat already closing up on him. "But in Hell that's more like sixty years. And time there isn't like time here, where things fade and become less, I don't know, prominent. I remember every second, Sammy." He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Torture was a big part of it, obviously. I was on a rack, and demons would take me apart in the most creative ways—you wouldn't believe it. And when there was nothing left for them to slice or rip or snap or burn, they'd put me back together and start all over again. Psychological torture too, but that wasn't as creative. Demons like the smell of blood, I guess. Anyway." Dean closes his eyes. "At the end of every day, this one demon, Alastair, would come to me and make me an offer. He'd say that he would let me go. That all the pain would stop and I could get down off the rack, if I started putting people on." His voice breaks. "And I lasted forty years, Sammy. Forty years. But then I couldn't take it anymore. And I got off the rack."

Sam turns so he's lying on his side, facing Dean. "You started torturing souls," he murmurs, sorrow sweeping over him. "Dean, you don't need to punish yourself for that—You were looking after yourself."

Dean shakes his head. "The things I did, Sam... I can never tell you about them. I became Alastair's star pupil; he taught me everything he knew and then I made some stuff up myself. And I... I enjoyed it."

Sam reaches up to cup Dean's cheek, making him turn his head. "Hey, look at me," Sam orders softly. "I'm not going to make you tell me anything—But if you do want to talk, I will listen. But you're out of there now, and if you hadn't been torturing those souls, other demons would have. And just because you enjoyed it doesn't make you a terrible person, Dean," he adds, tapping his thumb against Dean's cheek for emphasis. "Everyone does stuff they're not proud of. But it's done now, and even though you broke the first seal, I'm not breaking the last. We're out, Dean. And we're together, and we've got Ben, and Bobby. That's all that matters, now."

"That's not all that matters," Dean whispers brokenly even as he turns into Sam, pressing his face into Sam's neck and clinging tight. "I'm a monster. What kind of father can I be to Ben, what kind of... _whatever_ can I be to you, when I took pleasure in that kind of torture? I'd still take pleasure in it now. The things I could do to a person, if someone gave me so much of a pair of tweazers..."

"Hey, hey," Sam shushes Dean, pulling him in closer and running his hand up and down Dean's back soothingly. "You'll be a great father, and a great brother and boyfriend, Dean. You were a great father before you went to Hell; that's not gonna change. And I've been with you since I was _born_ , Dean. I know you. You would never— _never_ —hurt me or Ben. That's just not how you work. And you won't hurt someone if they don't threaten your family."

"Sammy," Dean wheezes, his breath coming fast and shallow now, and that's all he can manage before his chest tightens and he can't even breathe, let alone speak.

"Sammy," Dean wheezes, his breath coming fast and shallow now, and that's all he can manage before his chest tightens and he can't even breathe, let alone speak.

Sam immediately loosens his hold on Dean, giving him room to breathe. "Dean? Dean! Dean, listen to me, okay? You're okay, you hear me? You're okay. Breathe for me, Dean, come on."

Dean splutters and gasps for several minutes before he manages to get his breathing back under control, and even then he's still shaking as he collapses back into Sam. "I don't even know if I'm human," he confesses against Sam's collarbone. "I don't know who I am."

"You're Dean Winchester," Sam says simply. "You're my brother, Ben's father, and the man I love more than anything."

 _How can you love me?_ Dean wants to ask. _I don't deserve to be loved_. But he's too selfish to point that out; he needs Sam and he needs Ben and if Sam is offering forgiveness, redemption, then Dean is not going to turn it away. "I love you too, Sammy," he whispers instead, and closes his eyes.

Sam knows that this isn't the first time he will have to try to convince Dean that he loves him, even with knowing what Dean did in Hell, and whatever other reasons Dean tries to come up with, to convince himself and Sam that he doesn't deserve his family's love. "Don't you ever forget that," he murmurs, pulling Dean close.

***

Dean's sleep is even more disturbed for a week after that conversation, plagued by nightmares of Sam and Ben on the rack, on _his_ rack. He doesn't tell Sam what he dreams, but Sam is there anyway, soothing him with soft words and gentle hands, helping him to breathe. Ben helps too, and Dean finally pulls it together when he wraps his arms around Dean's waist and says, "I'm really glad you're my dad."

After that it finally starts to get through to Dean that he's loved, and that in spite of everything, he deserves to be. He makes an effort to be a proper dad after that, and a proper brother/boyfriend. They all spend time together as a family and Dean helps Ben with his homework, massages Sam's shoulders when he's been hunched over a pile of essays all evening. He even takes the day off about a month after his big reveal so that he can have dinner on the table when Sam comes home, and maybe he's trying a bit too hard, but it's better than having a panic attack every time he smells blood.

Ben is already sitting in front of his plate, eager to dig in, and Dean is standing at the head of the table with a grin on his face when Sam enters the room. "Hi honey," he teases, his eyes glittering. "How was your day?"

Sam takes in the tableau before him, and grins at Dean. "My day was fine, _sweetheart,_ " he responds, dropping his bag by the door and moving so he can tug Dean in against him, kissing his brother softly. "Yours?"

"Busy," Dean murmurs, smiling against Sam's lips. "I know I've been kind of a handful lately; I just wanted to say thank you."

Sam kisses Dean softly one more time before pulling back and framing Dean's face in his hands, stroking the top of Dean's cheeks absently with his thumb. "You're welcome," he murmurs, smiling at his brother. "Besides, it's _my_ turn to watch over _you._ " He grins at Dean, kissing him one more time before saying, "I'll go get washed up, then we'll eat, okay?"

Dean nods, a tender look in his eyes. "Just hurry up; Ben's starving."

Sam glances at Ben, who immediately pulls out his best set of puppy eyes, making Sam laugh. "Sure," he agrees, ruffling Ben's hair as he passes him. He washes his hands quickly, and then sits down at the table next to Dean. "Jeez, it's been forever since you've cooked for me, Dean. Sure you still have the skills to cook something other than Spaghetti-O's?" he teases.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Bitch, please. I'm an awesome cook," he announces. "See for yourself!"

Sam shares a smirk with Ben; Dean's too easy to rile up. Still, he cuts off a piece of the seasoned chicken, his eyebrows rising when he finds it damn near melts in his mouth. He lets out a moan that he's only heard come from his mouth during sex before. " _Damn_ , that's good."

Dean just nods, a serious expression on his face. "Never doubt me," he advises. "I am awesome at everything."

Sam and Ben exchanged amused glances before laughing. "Except Mario Kart," Ben points out, grinning smugly.

Dean gives him a bright grin. "Oh, thank you for volunteering to wash the dishes, son!" he cries. "Such a sweetheart!" He laughs and throws a balled-up napkin at Ben's head, muttering an affectionate, "little shit" as he returns to his meal.

Ben grumbles, but subsides when Sam nudges him with his elbow and starts telling him stories from his and Dean's childhood. Dinner passes amicably, and afterwards Ben starts washing while Sam dries and Dean stacks. Afterwards, they retreat to the living room to watch the newest episode of _Crime and Punishment,_ the television show about a cop and a crime boss. Ben still can't get over how similar the two actors—Jared and Jensen Ackles-Padalecki—are to Sam and Dean, and the Winchester brothers spend the first half of the episode trying to decide why the two men seem so... supernaturally alluring. Eventually, though, they settle down to watch the episode, Ben sitting cross-legged in the armchair, and Sam and Dean curled up on the couch.

Dean is warm and happy, a faint smile on his lips as he lies in Sam's arms. He's half asleep, and a glance over at the armchair tells him Ben is pretty much the same, but it's not a school night and Dean can't bring himself to make the kid move. Instead, he turns his head into Sam's chest and presses a light kiss to his breastbone. "I love you," he mumbles.

Sam lets a smile ghost over his lips before tilting his head to press his lips against the top of Dean's head. "Love you, too," he murmurs, feeling truly happy with his life for the first time in a long, long time.


End file.
